Maeve
by officialhermitsunited
Summary: After suddenly losing her old life in a Death Eater attack, Maeve is thrown into a crazy rollercoaster of love, war, and a life that's far from fair. With only one option available to keep her future intact, she is forced to follow in her uncle's footsteps to pseudo-spydom. Her uncle, however, has different ideas about what ought to happen and changes things up for his own benefit.
1. Chapter 1

**_Authors Note (A/N):_** 11th of August, 2014 - I apologize for the confusion and wait that has persisted this fic today, I have revamped it and am currently bringing the improved version over from AO3 (Archive of Our Own) for your enjoyment! The process will take some time, but I've made 8 chapters so far! For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Gaelic name of our main protagonist, it is pronounce MAY-vee like the month of May, then the letter V. More will be made, I promise, and we'll be seeing plenty of excitement along the way.

_Allons-y!_

* * *

Everyone was in a state of quiet pensiveness.

Bill lay surrounded by his family and fiancée, all of them quiet and satisfied of most of their present anxieties after Fleur's adamant declaration of her continuing love for the maimed man.

Lupin was thinking hard and long about the possibilities of pursuing a life with such a young woman as Tonks, with no little amount of trepidation despite the validation of his feelings by his friends, while Tonks gave him the space she knew he needed to think things through. She would wait for him. She had for this long.

Harry sat with Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, Lupin, and McGonagall in the chairs provided by Madam Pomfrey, who was now bustling about in her office.

Albus Dumbledore had just been murdered by Severus Snape. A man they had all trusted. A man who had truly lived up to their expectations of him. Silence in the room was punctured by the shuffling of a single pair of feet outside the door.

The door to the Hospital Wing was opened, and a young woman entered the threshold, eyes trained on the acting Headmistress.

She carefully and silently made her way towards the older woman, and as she stopped Harry noticed her entrance.

Her elbow-length black hair framed a pretty feminine face, and she wore the usual colors of summer, a white dress with flowers all over it the same light blue color as the knitted cardigan she was worrying between her fingers.

"Um, ma'am?" she whispered meekly. McGonagall looked up and started catching the attention of the rest of the people present.

"What are you doing here?" There was a forlorn undertone to her voice.

"I- I know I shouldn't presume to ask you anything after what's happened, but they've just come. C-come to kill me. I was getting a few things for dinner at the market when they went to my house and killed my cat, burned half the neighborhood to the ground as a warning. I don't expect you to help, but I figured it couldn't hurt to ask, I'll repay what kindness you give me tenfold, I'll sit on the steps if I have to, I just can't go back. Please," she implored quietly, looking for all the world like she'd rather the earth swallowed her whole on the spot.

"No, I won't turn you out." The woman's shoulders visibly relaxed. "I can't with a good conscience make a nineteen year old face the whole of Voldemort's network trying to start over from scratch now can I?"

McGonagall took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "We shan't deal with the little things just yet, I haven't the energy. You may use an owl from the Owlery to turn in your notice where you work, they'll get you if you go back."

"Thank you," the witch replied, and automatically bowed.

"Ms. Granger, if you could please escort our guest to the Owlery and supply her with parchment, ink, and a quill?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione studiously replied, standing.

Both teenagers walked out the large doors, and as soon as the doors snapped shut, McGonagall was met with many looks of confusion.

Sliding her square spectacles back into place, she sighed.

"Professor, who was she?" Harry asked confusedly.

"Severus Snape's niece."

* * *

Walking down the spacious halls and up the many flights of stairs, Hermione felt somewhat awkward leading a complete stranger to Gryffindor Tower, but decided it would be for the best to at least attempt conversation.

"What's your name?" Hermione asked politely.

"Maeve. Yours?" she asked, seeming somewhat relieved that Hermione had broken the ice for her.

"Hermione. Nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you too," Maeve's voice seemed to float right into Hermione's ear. "Do you attend here?"

"I do, yes. Didn't you?"

"No, I'm a part of the magical home schooled minority."

"Oh really? I didn't realize any Magical folk did that. What was it like?"

"A bit strange considering my parents were both strictly in love with their own subjects. My Dad was avid about Herbology, which suited my mum just fine because she was a Professional Potion's expert with St. Mungo's. They made time for other subjects like Charms and Transfiguration and the like, but it was mostly plants and potions for me. What's it like, to be a student here?"

It made Hermione a little worried, the way she was talking about her parent's in the past tense. "Oh it's wonderful! I've just finished my sixth year, and I couldn't be happier. We learn all the usual stuff like you said, and we live inside the school, I need to pop by my dormitory to get your things, but really it is all quite amazing."

"Are you Muggle Born?"

Hermione stopped dead. "I am. How could you tell?"

Maeve turned in surprise. "It's nothing, you just seem a lot more excited than most people who come from magic families. Of course, I'd be pretty excited myself if I got to live in a big castle and be mentored by some of the finest teachers around. It's not that my parents were awful, you know, but it'd have been nice."

Hermione still seemed tense.

"Really, I didn't mean anything by it. I probably shouldn't have asked, the way things have been lately, you must be on edge. I am too, I've friends who are Muggleborn and they've had to go into hiding."

They continued walking for a few floors. "So, what's your favorite subject, then?"

"Arithmancy, definitely," Hermione replied, "I've always had a head for the logic of it, and the number charts are my favorite part of homework."

"But I bet you don't like Divination?" Maeve asked, smiling slightly.

"No," Hermione replied, perplexed.

"That's how it is among lots of people, it's either one or the other, guess work or solid numbers. I know of a few who enjoy both, but they're like that with a lot of other things as well."

"What was your favorite subject?"

"Potions, definitely. I took my mums old job when I finished my N.E.W.T.S. a few months ago, and its loads of fun. Do you like to read?"

"Oh yes, it's my favorite. I'm glad they have a huge Library here, or I don't know what I'd do. I love to read about all sorts of things, all about this world, history and important people, how the government works, the other schools all around the world," Hermione's eyes spoke of her intense bibliophilia.

They continued like this, all the way up into Gryffindor tower and to the Owlery. After Maeve's letter had been sent off, they started back down to the Hospital Wing.

Maeve and Hermione were discussing Hermione's future job prospects in detail, when Hermione twisted her ankle badly in the stairs.

"OW!" she yelped in pain, lading hard on the ground. Maeve knelt down next to her, worried expression on and wand out.

"I'm sorry, I'm not usually this clumsy," Hermione grumbled, looking at the bruising on her ankle. Maeve cast a numbing spell on the afflicted area and immediately hoisted Hermione onto her back.

"What are you doing?"

"Well you can't walk," she replied as though commenting on the weather.

* * *

"His niece? You let Hermione go off with Snape's Niece?" Harry spouted in anger.

"That's quite enough, Mr. Potter. A relative of his she may be, but she is no more to blame for this travesty than any one of us," McGonagall told him sharply.

"Can she be trusted?" Lupin inquired.

"Yes, I believe so, although some amount of caution should be taken, I don't expect she'll do anything too rash."

They heard voices coming down the hall outside.

"… and would you believe he called me a Mudblood? Any time he saw me! Out in Public!"

"And it was just normal for him to use such foul language?"

"Apparently so."

"What an arrogant little prick."

"That's what I said."

Maeve walked in giving Hermione a piggy back ride, while one of Hermione's feet stuck out at an odd angle.

Harry immediately jumped up in a rage, wand drawn. "What did you do to her?!"

"Mr. Potter!"

"Honestly, Harry, it was my fault. It's only a sprain," Hermione scolded him.

Maeve hardly looked at him while she carried the younger teen to a bed.

"I'll get a salve, that'll bruise here in a moment," Maeve told her, drawing her own wand.

"What are you going to do?!" Harry spluttered.

"It's serious, we'll have to amputate," she told him sardonically, eyeing him surreptitiously on her way to the medicine cabinet. With hardly a twitch of her wand the cabinet came open and she carefully grabbed a fat container from the middle shelf.

Bill was more awake now, and looking confused. "Who are you?" he asked quietly.

"Maeve. And yourself?"

"Bill. Are you an angel?"

"Sure am. Better be careful about saying those kinds of things around your fiancée over there, because you're not dead yet."

With the almost identical glares of Professor McGonagall and Hermione, Harry sat back down, still looking anxious. Maeve walked back over to Hermione, pocketing her wand, and kneeled in front of her with the jar of salve open and floating beside her.

"May I?" she asked hesitantly.

Hermione nodded, and then winced.

"What's your pain level between 0 and 10?"

"Five."

Harry was now on the edge of his seat, ready to jump to Hermione's aid.

Maeve spread the salve lightly over her ankle, careful not to press down on the afflicted area too harshly.

"All done," she murmured after a moment.

Hermione grinned, moving her foot gingerly. "Thank you," she said happily.

The two of them adjourned to where Hermione had been sitting, and easily fit their feminine frames into the seat. The awkward silence was weighing down on her as she tucked her feet together, the hem of her dress revealing bruises on her knees.

"Maeve, how have you been?" asked Lupin somewhat conversationally, in a thankful attempt to alleviate the thickness of the air.

"Alright, bloody war and all considered. Ten cases of unknown diseases or curse related cases, lots of guessing. If you need an estimate, we had a near fatality Wednesday that I got saddled with because of my coworker's ingenious ideas about women being better caretakers than men, and that was the high point of my month. Even Friday's movie was a load of tosh. How about you?"

"Eh, about the same. Recruiting other werewolves to join, or at least making them aware of the true intentions of Voldemort. It's not quite as easy as I'd hoped but it's got to be done. I assume your job's going well?"

"It was, yeah. I guess Johnson will have to take over. He'll be devastated, he hate's having to look after interns."

Mr. Weasley interjected, "You're a Mediwitch?"

Maeve was surprised, as she hadn't expected the ginger man to say much. "No, but I have the training for it. I work as a coordinator for the Potions Department of the Hospital, though. Work with Healers, gather data on symptoms, make stuff to cure people."

"How'd you get in?" asked Mrs. Weasley interestedly.

"Oh, my mum was the head of the department before she passed and homeschooled me. I learned almost everything I know from her."

"And your uncle, too, I bet?" Harry bit out.

Maeve stared into his green eyes unblinkingly. "Yeah, actually. Mostly on theory, though. Why?"

"Harry! That's quite enough!" Lupin chastised.

"No no, I do want to know why. What's your problem?"

"You just saunter in here-" he began, his face twisting up in disdain, but then stopped at the expression of near pity on her face.

Harry scowled at her. "What?"

Lupin was about to try and intercede yet again, but Maeve held up a hand to silence him without losing eye contact with Harry.

"Stop. Please. Just stop and think for a moment. I'm not him. You don't know me any better than I know you. What real, solid reason do you have to be angry with me?"

"Because you're just like him! I can tell, you act like-"

"Oh really, you must have more talent in your little finger than everyone in this room, because a good ten minutes isn't enough to give you that. Do I terrorize children in a classroom to get a power trip because I've been blackmailed into being a teacher? Do I ruthlessly murder people who trust me? Do I enjoy bloody peanut butter?"

Harry stared at her.

"No, you don't know. You're pulling things out of thin air in your inability to control your obviously violent temper to have somebody to blame."


	2. Chapter 2

Ever since Maeve had arrived unexpectedly and in a wave of fear, Hermione couldn't stop watching her.

Maeve was at the Burrow with Harry and Ron and Hermione for safekeeping, and was now the Orders new Brewer, though Hermione suspected it was mostly Professor McGonagall's clever on-the-spot excuse to keep her around and out of harm's way.

In the morning by the time Hermione finally peeled herself out of bed, Maeve had already gone running in the early quiet morning, bathed for the day, gotten herself suitably clothed in some pretty dress she'd magicked together out of fabrics she paid whoever was going to Diagon Alley to pick up, her hair dried into perfect waves tumbling down her back, and was chatting with Mrs. Weasley over coffee or tea as the older woman prepared the days breakfast.

Hermione would walk down the stairs and sit across from her in her pajamas, feeling utterly inadequate at the older girl's obvious adult-like inner schedule, and the way she was so put together. Whether or not there was a conversation going, she always had a thick tome at hand with some random thin article stuffed between the pages to mark her place, and would return to it after a suitably long enough lack of anyone speaking directly to her. The most current of the thick books was apparently about medicinal herbs, the last had been on the usefulness of having the offending object which caused a poisoning on hand to determine what antidote to make, and how to use the blood or other fluids of a person to create it in a pinch.

"Don't you know most of this already?" she'd asked thoughtlessly once.

"Yes, I suppose I do, but it's never a bad time to brush up on things you're not allowed to forget. Of course, I have these books at my disposal during most instances I'd need the information in them, but I can't always look it up you know," Maeve smiled good-naturedly at Hermione's embarrassment at having asked such an obvious question.

During the morning, assuming she wasn't needed to make any sort of potion, she would do things around the house to help Mrs. Weasley, especially with the upcoming nuptials of Bill and Fleur. Once, Hermione had observed Fleur and Maeve sitting alone for the first time in the kitchen, the dark haired and eyed girl in stark contrast to Fleur's fair Veela-like features.

Maeve had asked timidly "Parlez-vous français?" and Fleurs face lit up in recognition of her mother-tongue, which then prompted them to begin speaking more speedily in French than Hermione's elementary level could keep up with.

At lunch, she would sometimes take a sandwich outside to eat alone in the garden with her book, but every once in a while Mrs. Weasley would weasel her into staying with everyone else. Hermione tried not to bother her too much by venturing out to eat with her, thinking the older girl would want to be alone anyhow.

Then at Dinner, she would sometimes wash the dishes with whoever would help, meticulously cleansing every dish by hand and with wand to ensure they all looked nearly new by the time she'd finished scrubbing them.

She didn't speak all that often, Hermione had surmised, but when she did it was often in length and left little room for argument. Hermione often asked her questions, to which she would reply in kind, and make it obvious when the younger girl had exhausted her or simply broached a subject she herself hadn't yet questioned enough to research. Once, Hermione had forgotten herself and asked somewhat briefly about Maeve's Uncle, but a closed expression would cross her face, however smilingly she would tell stories of her adopted parents.

Harry avoided her like the plague, though not to the girl's obvious disappointment - "If he's not going to put any effort into getting over himself, then I won't stop him." - but at least Ronald would smile at her as they passed and acted with civility, though Hermione suspected that was simply because Mrs. Weasley was often within earshot. Remus was cordial enough, as they had apparently known each other before her arrival, and would sometimes find himself cornered in a quiet conversation about Tonks- who also acted cordially to her by extension. Bill had seemingly decided that since Fleur liked her so much, he could live with it, as did Fred, George, and the visiting Charlie. Maeve would sometimes find herself in an interrogation by Mr. Weasley when he was home about Muggle items or services, which Hermione aided in.

No one had dared truly provoke her ire so far, especially Hermione, but one evening Harry had been in a particularly foul and dark mood that not even Ginny could assuage. It had happened just after Mrs. Weasley had asked about a potion Maeve had been asked to make for one of the order members who was in hiding. Harry had finally gotten to the edge of his own ire, and had raged "Why don't you just leave?" silencing the whole table.

Maeve had worn a familiar expression of suppressed rage for a split second before it was overcome by a sudden aging tiredness that split her generally youthful and neutral presence at the seams.

"And be deprived of your engaging company?" the sarcasm was a haunting reminder of her association with the murderer. Even the raised eyebrows were painfully familiar.

"Seeing as you so obviously know all about how these things work, then enlighten us all on how I can simply cajole out of the bounds of this property's wards off into the sunset without a single worry? Let's see here," she held up both hands, counting off things on her fingers. "Most people can go to their parent's for help, but mine have been dead for about two years so that's out," Harry winced.

"I can't very well go to my bloody bastard of an Uncle and live my short and pained life out in servitude to a dogma I can't stand to be around," another wince. "And, ooh, I can't go to any one of my friends' houses and stay or they'd be murdered in front of me, hides stripped and crucio'ed to death like my cat," everyone winced at that one. "So here I am. You can either go on being a completely obtuse little shit, or you can get over it and move on. Yeah?" she then excused herself, and had apparently found her way to the roof of the precariously constructed house, where Hermione had found her crying.

Other than that instance, she was generally her own person in contrast to her Uncle. She was mild mannered, gentle, and patient, traits Snape had obviously never possessed in his life save possibly with his crafts, and held the ability to sustain polite and sometimes lengthy conversation with anyone in the house who'd attempt it, though she rarely began any.

Hermione thought Maeve put Fleur to shame. Her dusky black eyelashes naturally long and thick, giving her the appearance of having on eye-makeup but actually not. Her black eyes were wide and expressive, making up for their lack of color like Harry's vivid green or Ron's light blue. She had a slim figure, accentuated by her physical fitness from running nearly every day, yet filled out by womanhood with roundness and gentle curves. Her nose wasn't anything like Snape's had been, but a fitting, smaller sort that fit her face properly. Her lips were perpetually rosy, though not a lipstick red, and her teeth (to the eyes of a Dentist's daughter) were dazzling when she smiled. Her neck was graceful, her skin a normal healthy shade, however slightly paler than most, chest of an average size, legs long and slender in the flattering dresses she made with the effortlessness of a few wordless flicks of her wand. Beautiful, graceful, the picture of what Hermione thought as a real woman.

She could also play the piano.

On one of the rare occasions any of the teenagers from the Weasley Residence had been allowed to go to Grimmauld Place to have a change of scenery for once, Hermione had accompanied Maeve to the sitting room with the upright grand piano, thinking she'd gone looking for the library. When a few spells were cast, the piano looked good as new, keys restored to a youthful luster, and apparently perfectly tuned.

She sat down, staring at the keys for a moment, her fingers poised just above the surface in an almost palpable nervousness. Then, with grace borne of practice she began what Hermione vaguely remembered as Chopin's "Raindrop" Prelude. Its soft pensive notes reminded her of its namesake, even in the darker portion of it, which reminded her of a more introspective sadness sometimes one could get caught up in while thinking. A few of the Order Members were standing in the doorway watching with mild interest and listening to the soft music began to climax into the harsher notes, plateau, and descend back into a sadder version of it's original. She seemed to cut it short in favor of transitioning smoothly into Arabesque No. 1 by Debussy, a more familiar piece to Hermione's ears.

After it seemed Maeve was done playing, and so soon, Hermione inquired after where she'd learned it.

"My mum taught me from when I was very little, she used to always let me sit in her lap and watch her play the notes, and I'd repeat the pattern. I can't hardly read all those little lines and dots that make up sheet music, it's just easier to do it by ear sometimes."

* * *

Later that same afternoon, Hermione was sitting with her stargazing on a bench out in the garden long after Ginny had gone off to have some alone time with Harry, and Ronald had slunk off to bed in a tired stupor after having played Quidditch all day.

"The stars are beautiful at night, aren't they?" Hermione had whispered, looking up at the swirling masses of lights dotting the sky.

"Hmm…" Maeve hummed in agreement.

Their hands were close enough on the bench for Hermione to feel the slight warmth coming from the other girls' person. Observing her own reactions over the past few weeks, Hermione realized why she'd been watching, why she'd been following, and quite nearly obsessing over this nineteen year old witch. She had a crush.

Should she say anything? Was there grounds for it? Did she even like women? Was Hermione just infatuated?

This was, after all, a war, and if she didn't act now, she thought with melancholy, she may never get to.

Maeve seemed to be deep in thought, and Hermione took her chance, lightly taking her loose hand into her own two, examining it with her fingertips. She still seemed not to notice as Hermione gazed deftly into the perfect reflection of the night sky in her black eyes. Her fingers traced lightly around the fingertips, grooves, fledgling potion-stirring callouses, and knuckles, finally feeling of the soft flesh between the digits with slow deliberate sweeps of her index finger. She felt the stiffening of the muscles in Maeve's arm, and then the intense stare on her face as the older girl shuddered from the contact.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice a full octave lower than its usual alto cadence, almost bordering on tenor.

"You have lovely hands," Hermione whispered back somewhat shyly, and it was true. Fine boned and neatly manicured, they were well taken care of.

"That doesn't quite answer my question."

Were Hermione's face totally visible in the dark of the near-midnight, she'd be red as a beet.

"I really like you." There, she'd said it. She didn't even know if Maeve was interested in her, let alone women in general. Hermione wasn't usually interested in anyone these days, but she made exceptions in exceptional cases.

"Hermione," came the reply. She looked up and met almost sad eyes, the stars still reflected in their obsidian depths.

"Hermione you must understand. I've heard of Harry's plot to run off," her hammering heart dropped in her chest, "and I know you well enough to know you're too loyal a friend to let him run off. Ron, I know, is going as well. They'll need you," an almost panic gripped Hermione's heart, and she turned to flee, but quick reflexes and better strength found her back on the bench, now closer to the object of her affections than she had ever been before.

Unbidden, tears sprung to Hermione's eyes to be wiped away by gentle thumbs.

"Hermione," the tone was a gentle warning. "I'm not saying no. Not forever. But I won't be able to bear it if I allow myself to get in too deep only to have you run to the hills with your friends off on a perilous journey I know nothing about, where you could be killed without ever being found and there I'd sit waiting for the rest of my-" Hermione cut her off with a chaste kiss, lingering slightly.

Maeve was startled at first, but then kissed her back almost timidly, as if waiting for reply, which was gladly supplied, tentatively and with much care not to break the spell. Fingers tangled languidly in long curly tresses with surprising ease, and creeping hands made it further around hilly, lean backs, before parting in silence.

"I'll wait. I'm not happy about it, but I'll wait," Hermione whispered before quickly sprinting off to the safety of the house, where she could sulk alone.

Maeve sighed, curling in on herself on the bench, drawing her knees up to sit in fetal position, ignoring her tingly lips and disheveled dress.

This was going to be one hell of a long war.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry stood in the doorway, silently watching her read on her cot under the window in Ginny and Hermione's shared room. He slowly walked over to the edge of Ginny's bed nearest her, and stopped, clearing his throat sheepishly.

She looked up, and seemed somewhat startled to see him. "Hi."

"Hi," he said back quietly in the still room. "Can we talk?"

Her eyebrows traveled up her forehead. "Er- s-sure, Harry, take a seat."

Taking a spot on the bed Hermione slept on, curiously avoiding Ginny's, he waited.

"I, er, I just wanted to apologize for being a great big git. Things have, er, been hard on everybody lately, and there's just been all this stress, and I, er, I'm really sorry."

Maeve was frozen, hardly believing her ears. "O-of course, yeah."

"Er, I've also noticed Hermione, well, she- has she said anything to you? Like feelings and stuff?"

"Yeah, we talked about things," she replied.

"And?" Harry pressed, grinning despite himself.

"We've got our ducks in a row, if that's what you're after," she replied uncomfortably.

"Oh, so it's 'we' now. I see," he grinned wider and raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, 'we'. Um, you play Quidditch, don't you?" she questioned in an attempt to change the subject. Thankfully, that brought on a whole conversation about favorite teams, tactics, stories of both glory and failure, and a solid hour of just talking.

"Well, Ron and the twins and I play outside in the field sometimes, so if you want to come and maybe play that'd be cool," Harry wondered sheepishly.

"Yeah! Yeah, that'd be great!" Maeve replied with gusto.

Harry smiled. "I'll talk to Ron about it," and he left.

* * *

That evening at dinner, Remus sat next to his wife and across from Harry, who had Ron on one side and Maeve on the other. Hermione sat much farther down the table with Ginny and Charlie. Maeve was, surprisingly, talking animatedly about Quidditch with Harry and Ron, all of them laughing at something funny Ron had said. He was glad Harry and Maeve had settled their differences, hopefully once and for all. About half way through the meal, he noticed after they discussed some of the leading national leagues' best moves, Maeve lent a glance down the table to one bushy haired teen, and winked. To which said teen blushed and winked back. Remus was a little appalled at this particular development, but now that he thought about it, they had been together more often than was strictly necessary. He sighed inwardly.

Maeve was supposed to be a stand in until she was able to carry out her assignment, but somehow even under the constant strain of being around someone as vile and prickly as Snape, she had developed personality, character, and some small form of social grace. However, that didn't excuse her still un-trustworthy status as the (previously) loyal and adoring niece of a killer. No matter how many missions she accomplished, merit she earned, and friends she made, she would not be truly allowed to have that sort of a relationship with anybody in the Order or affiliated with Harry. A friend is much easier to keep secrets from than a lover, and Hermione wasn't exactly seen as the best at deception, smartest witch of her age or not.

The girl, no matter how kind and sweet, was on some logical, physical, and theoretical level very dangerous. Being soaked in Snape's darkness from a young age and having been partially raised by the man was surely nothing to overlook in the grand scheme of things.

He remembered the first time he met Maeve.

_==Remus had gone to visit Snape before the school year began to catch up, and possibly make amends for the sake of everyone else at least. He found himself seated in a dingy little house in an old mill workers housing project, a glass of single malt whiskey in hand looking across at the now adult version of the skinny boy he once knew._

_The room was dark, almost like a cave, but dry. The walls were nearly covered floor to ceiling in books, neat stacks of books in varying shades of brown and black sat on the floor, and the very door to the kitchen was a wall of books, left ajar presumably for extra light._

_"What brings you here, Lupin?" Snape asked._

_"Just dropping by to say hello. Dumbledore mentioned you might like to know I'll be teaching Defense in the upcoming year."_

_"Yes, he mentioned you might."_

_"How have you been, Severus?"_

_"Well enough."_

_Lupin paused, noting the closed expression on his old colleagues face._

_"Look I know we-"_

_Just then, someone came through the back door. A girl of about 15, barefooted in a dirt dusted dress with muddy hands. She walked nonchalantly to the sink, washed her hands thoroughly, and made to enter the living room but stopped short in the doorway at the sight of him._

_Snape motioned her forward, which she acquiesced to, and listened to her whisperings in his ear intently._

_"I shall only be a moment, Lupin, there are immediate developments I must attend to," Snape told him, sitting his barely touched drink down, magically cleaning the dirtied skirt of her dress (to Lupin's understandable surprise). She sat down in the now vacant seat, arranging her legs and skirt properly. Apparently she was more properly raised than he had expected (especially since she was in this particular house)._

_Black hair and eyes, identical to Severus', however to her credit she was more feminine and far prettier than he had been at that age, however gangly they both were. She seemed curious about him, but held it in well._

_"Good afternoon, sir. I'm Maeve Snape, the Professors niece. He'll be back in a moment, I'm sure."_

_He wasn't entirely surprised at their relation, except for the fact that he hadn't known Severus had a sibling to have a niece in the first place._

_"Of course, good afternoon to you too. My name is Remus Lupin, I'll be teaching at Hogwarts this year as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. I suppose we'll be seeing more of each other."_

_She looked a little stunned for a moment, a half smile on her face as if she had some sort of private joke. "Oh, excuse me, you're mistaken, sir. You see, my parents tend to my schooling just out of London at my home."_

_"Really? I wasn't aware that many people homeschooled these days!" he was almost one of them, but his parents would have struggled with raising a werewolf and teaching him too._

_"Yeah, we have our own Quidditch League too! I Beat for my areas team, and we compete with other teams from all over Britain and Scotland. I have friends from the South West on one of the other teams who Beat as well."_

_"That's great! I used to do a bit of Quidditch myself in the earlier days of my school days, but that didn't turn out so well."_

_"Did your transformations make it hard to keep up?" but as soon as it was out of her mouth she clapped a hand over it as her face turned bright red. "Please excuse me that was so insensitive and absolutely none of my business!" she said in a horrified voice, looking for all the world like she wanted the ratty little chair to swallow her whole._

_"No, it's quite alright, in fact you're right, my transformations did make it quite hard to keep up with a great many school things back in the day. And continue to. Tell me, did Severus…?"_

_She swallowed, her face a shade or two closer to normalcy. "Yes and no. He was-" she turned and looked for a moment at the door Severus had left through- "grumbled horribly about werewolves for a week when he came back from school three weeks ago. Al- Professor Dumbledore must have been considering you earlier for the position after the, and I quote: "Cocky, lying, narcissistic, flamboyant, waste of a perfectly good Ravenclaw, pretty boy who copied the lives of his betters to make himself seem more interesting"."_

_Remus laughed. From what he'd heard of and read about Gilderoy Lockheart, Severus' impression was right on the head, if not a bit over-dramatic as usual._

_"What was the problem out there?"_

_"Well, um, I'm re-planning the herb and ingredient garden out back and can't use magic yet so I have him do a few things every once in a while; there was this huge snake den out there under the overgrown pumpkin vines I couldn't get rid of without making a mess."_

_Just then Severus came back into the room, cleaning dirt off his trousers with his wand. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and she pranced right out, waving her fingers at him in goodbye, skirts flying around her dirt smudged bare legs and feet.==_

Remus finished his meal and waited out for the right moment to speak with Maeve separately from Hermione.

The chance came when Maeve had sat in on a short meeting that evening: she had imbibed half a glass of wine, which was apparently just enough to get her a little loose around the mouth. They were sitting across from each other near the fire after most of the rooms' occupants had adjourned to the kitchen door to go home.

"Maeve, what do you think about Hermione?" No beating around the bush, he wanted to cut the nonsense.

"Hermione? Aw, she's awesome. Like starlight and sunshine, which now that I think about it are technically the same thing, all wrapped up in a beautiful package that loves books and lists and planning with all those great things like loyalty and bravery ad wittiness and she's just ruthless as hell and it's all just great, you know?" she laughed to herself, twirling around the ruddy liquid in the little glass, watching it with sparkling eyes. "Damn," she exclaimed, "if there wasn't this stupid war going on with bloody snake faced Hitler and his sneaky SS in velvet robes, we'd do things properly you know? Like, courtship and dating and stuff."

"You know you can't, though. You're not here to fraternize, you have a job. And Hermione is just a girl, anyways she'd leaving in a bit."

The mannerisms and expressions in the firelight Maeve was giving were almost scarily like Snape, even as tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. She told me, but I don't know where she's going or what she's doing. It scares me. What if she dies? Gets tortured? You're right, she's a girl, and her whole childhood has been wrecked in a way I'll never understand. My life began to fall apart when I was already her age, but facing things like she has at eleven? Basilisks at twelve? It's just," she sighed long and deep. "I tried not to make things any harder on either of us, but it's not working, so what's the use, yeah? She'll be gone, and I'll be the new Pariah-Spy." She raised her glass in mock salute before finishing off the glass and adjourning up to bed.

* * *

The dingy old house was in ruin, books strewn all over the place like it had been for at least a month. Severus searched and searched, set things on fire, put his foot through the coffee table three times (thank Circe for magic), and had been researching like mad. The Dark Lord, despite Severus' enduring show of absolute loyalty by killing- that still put a sharp searing pain in his chest –his one friend in the Order, required Severus to concoct a whole new poison that caused the body to disintegrate for Circe knew what kind of insane plot against Potter. They were due to attack on the day of the wedding, and the Order had been duly noted by way of his small connection with his Maeve, the little blighter, and he was driving himself batty just thinking about the damned future.

Whiskey bottles sat in random places, some half full some hardly damp, anything to dull that stupid emotional response to murder he'd always had to deal with- empathy, guilt, distaste, betrayal –all of them utterly useless in his books. There was no room for him to be so- so human any more, he was a machine and he had to operate without attachment. Find, torture, kill, loot, brew, flatter, beg, revel – the endless cycle of hate and murder.

Inept world of continuous left and right and up and down – "One foot in front of the other, my boy" – "SHUT UP YOU BARMY OLD MAN!" he shouted aloud to ward of the ghost of the voice in his head that had been haunting his sleep. He had to go on for that "greater good" purpose, for… for Lily. And he'd be damned if he had made it this far to just give up. He would most likely die soon enough, and the Potter boy would kill his thrice damned master to rid the world of the majority of the present evils.

Maeve was out there somewhere, most likely at the Weasleys residence hitting on some unsuspecting girl, Granger or the Weasley girl or some chit, doing as he'd instructed her to do for him almost a year ago. It had almost been too easy to have her infiltrate the Order, which bothered him to some extent, and she was due to meet him as an apprentice of some sort – Potions, probably – and begin planning for the end with Dumbledore's Portrait that had probably already shown up.

His arm began to tingle in an early warning; he threw a bottle and sighed at the sound of the glass and liquid splash everywhere on the now empty wall behind the shelf. Calm; cool; collected; the epitome of power, however meek in the presence of "the almighty" himself.

He grabbed his velvety robes, which warded off dust and seemed to suck in the light and destroy it, a decently romanticized metaphor for his job and very soul- but his mind was now frozen in armor, and he was ready to look Satan in the face and kiss his robes.

Mask on, robes arranged, boots tied, sobered up and wand at the ready he popped right out of his bedroom to Circe knew where.


	4. Chapter 4

Maeve's headache hadn't stopped her from rising at her usual hour, and Hermione had apparently been anticipating all this because she had been groggily sitting on her bed with her jumper on in light of the cold morning air, and had a hangover relief potion.

"I don't drink enough to get truly drunk, I swear," Maeve had whispered to her urgently, hoping she'd understand.

"Yeah, I'd figured not. I didn't take you as much of a drinker at all, but you weren't sloshed when you came to bed last night. Aren't you going to watch the sun come up like usual? Can I come with you?"

Maeve grinned after the potion took effect and nodded in agreement.

They sat in the silence, the orange light beginning to cascade over the distant mountain-tops.

"Maeve?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"After Harry Ron and I leave, what will you do?"

"I suppose I'll have to go wherever McGonagall puts me. Probably Hogwarts. What are you lot going to do?"

"Well, it's this mission from Dumbledore, and we're not allowed to say anything, it's all strictly confidential. I'm sorry, I'd tell you, I really would, but I just can't," Hermione told her in earnest.

"That's alright, you don't have to tell. I wouldn't want you to go breaking the confidence of your friends over me, there are things I'll go to the grave with that friends have told me."

Hermione smiled thankfully, and Maeve admired her face in the morning sun, when without preamble she was drowning in the sensation of Hermione, all lips and gentle fingers, and the feeling that they had all the time in the world. Their positions were somewhat awkward, and Maeve delighted in Hermione straddling her lap, the soft tendrils of hair tickling her forehead and ears as it tumbled around in the wind, and just as suddenly as the sensation came the flavor, of minty toothpaste and oddly flavored hangover potion, and just rightness.

Her arms were wrapped around Hermione's midsection, and she could feel the knitted jumper riding up over soft skin where fingers were promptly splayed. The pair of surprisingly strong hands around her neck and shoulder were sliding through black smooth hair and over pale exposed skin.

When air was finally needed, though it seemed a disproportionate necessity in comparison to their previous engagement, Maeve took to worshiping properly the delicate skin of Hermione's thin, pretty neck. Dusted lightly with freckles like her arms and face, it was something of a dream where breathy sighs were the only language spoken; enthusiastic licking and nibbling and sucking on that one perfect place where both were sure a mark would be made but neither particularly cared, Hermione was as close to Maeve as was physically possible with clothes on.

Finally, when Maeve was sure Hermione was on the very brink of getting carried away (if the insistent pelvic pressure and absolutely wanton snogging was of any note), she tried to slow down some, only to be met with a short whine of displeasure.

Hermione's pupils were extremely dilated, and her lips swollen, a pout playing about them when Maeve had to take her by the shoulders and push her face away with only a fraction of a distance left between their noses.

"Please," she whispered breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I can't forget you're leaving. If we go… well that far, I shan't be able to let you go no matter how urgent your mission. I have a bit of a possessive streak in me, you understand," Maeve whispered in reply, sure of her own state of dishevelment.

Grumbling to herself as Hermione peeled herself away from the older girl, she crossed her arms over her chest defensively and set into a well put-on pout. "Trust you to be the voice of reason."

"Oh, now don't give me that," Maeve murmured as she got up, and chastely kissed Hermione's protruding lips, her adorably wonderful nose, and finally her forehead.

"Save a seat for me at breakfast table, will you? I'll see you when you're done with your jog," Hermione mumbled, still put out.

* * *

At the kitchen table, Hermione slid in the seat next to Maeve, actually put together, and baring a present for the pile that Harry had. The Birthday Boy himself was sitting across the table from her, grinning and blushing at the presents he received from the people of the house, and Maeve was introduced to a few faces she hadn't seen before.

An enormous shaggy man in an equally enormous shaggy coat wielding a large umbrella came to give Harry an ever extending moleskin purse. He asked Harry something which prompted a retelling of their first meeting, which made Maeve giggle, drawing the man's warm black eyes to her own. He immediately looked away, recognition dawning.

Hermione seemed to notice this, and took Maeves hand in her own in an attempt to comfort her under the close scrutiny of a miserable looking Lupin, a radiant Tonks, and surprisingly an edgy looking Mrs. Weasley.

Their stares were averted for a moment when Harry began to open Maeve's gift. Gasps sounded all across the room when he pulled out a fake wooden snake made of interlocking parts, painted blue. He also pulled out a large piece of parchment with the instructions written on it.

"That's cool," he whispered under his breath. "How do you make it start?"

"Stick your finger in its mouth. Whichever one'll fit will be fine, it's not picky."

Harry promptly set it on his smallest finger, and it clamped down, causing another wave of gasps. Bright green eyes scanned the instructions, and closed for a moment, the pieces of the snake moving and writhing until they came to a stop and the mouth released him.

He opened his eyes again, took his finger out of its mouth, and grinned, mouthing five, four, three, two, one, and then the snake began to play "Happy Birthday" like a music box.

"How original," she laughed. "You can also think of a specific time of day and use it as a wakeup alarm, but I think you might get bored of that song. If you need some particularly serious incentive to wake up, you can give it a five minute delay and tell it to wrap around your arm or neck and start squeezing, but it doesn't bite."

"Where'd you get this?"

"Dumbledore made that for me for my fifth birthday so I could make it to lessons with him on time. It was sort of embarrassing "Maybe now you'll get yourself up on time," he said, and now I get up the same time every morning unaided without failure."

"You didn't have to give me anything, you know," he said sheepishly, "I haven't really been the nicest to you, and I didn't expect you to-"

"Oh, you hush, no more of that. Yeah, you were a right git in the beginning, but you made it plain you were truly sorry and made it up so I think that's what counts. You're an alright kid," she told him, raising her glass of milk in salute and drank deeply, making him blush deeper.

Hermione grinned between the both of them as Harry got on with the rest of his presents, and asked beneath the rumble of everyone talking "Why'd you have lessons with Professor Dumbledore?"

"Oh, I budded a little early magic-wise and needed training so I wouldn't keep setting the house on fire when I got mad. My dad was a herbologist, so it wouldn't have done well to kill his prized plants now would it?"

Hermione grinned, an empathetic look in her eyes, but Mrs. Weasley seemed to think otherwise of it.

After the majority of the people left the table, including Harry, the big man, and most of the Weasleys, Mrs. Wealsey sat down where Harry had been, a particularly displeased expression on her face.

"What do you two think you're doing?" she asked, her voice obviously just beneath angry yelling.

"Er, what's the matter Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked in confusion, but Maeve knew, unfortunately.

"If you must know, we didn't. I'm not stupid, Mrs. Weasley, I know the law. I researched it specifically."

Mrs. Weasley bristled. "Well. Well then. Good," and bustled out, leaving them alone with Charlie, Fleur, and Bill.

"What was that about?" Charlie asked in confusion.

"The statute of limitation for age of consent in the Wizarding community of Britain is a little wonky, consent between both parties 16 and 17 or 18 and above is legal, but not between consenting parties one above and one below… when at least one of the consenting parties is, er, Muggleborn. That'd be statutory rape part C section two," Maeve was staring at the ceiling like it as the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.

Fleur, Bill, and Charlie just stared at her, but Hermione was absolutely gawking.

"That's awful! In Muggle Britain it's sixteen and over all the way, and just who do they think they are, restricting Muggleborns like that-"

She stood up abruptly, and marched off in the direction of the stairs, her long wild hair flying about in her wake.

* * *

When the table was set, the amazing cake brought out, nearly everyone had gathered for the food starving, but apparently Mr. Weasley was late from work.

"Oh, I hope everything is okay, I know Mr. Weasley has been getting a hard time for liking muggle culture at work," Hermione said under her breath to Maeve in a worried tone, watching the front gate. "I feel sorry for him. He's really a nice man who works hard on his job, and they haven't not once in ten years given him a promotion in his office, all because he's a Muggle enthusiast, those awful discriminatory people."

"My little social justice warrior," Maeve replied fondly, bumping her arm into Hermione's.

Blushing, she plowed on with her rant, scowl firmly in place. "This world, no matter how much I love it, is just so behind. Ever since the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy in 1692, the progress here has just been so slow! I understand the aesthetic, but quills? And Ink? Honestly. And really I think this war has been a long time coming. When we get out on the other side, which I really do think we have a chance at, the rebuilding could really use some Muggle influence. Like education that actually progresses and becomes better with time instead of fifty year old books with the same material as always, ballpoint pens, and lined paper-" just then a ball of silver came rocketing towards them, and Maeve recognized it as a Patronus before she reached for her wand.

"I'm coming, Minister of Magic with me."

"Oh no," Maeve grumbled.

"What?"

"Scrimgeour despises me. His mum was in my lead Healers ward a year or so ago with some odd disease, and he swore up and down that we were wasting our time, but on my hair we cured her with no little amount of fuss. Proved him wrong, I did, and he gives me these nasty looks all the time."

"Well, better for you not to like him back, because in our fifth year, he was a part of this punishment our Defense teacher came up with-"

"Dolores Umbridge, by any chance?"

"Yes her - she made students use blood quills to write things on the backs of their hands in detention. We got her sacked, big story I might tell you later with Centaurs and giants, but either way he's bad news. You should see Harry's hand!"

Finally, the Minister popped into existence next to Arthur Weasley just beyond the garden gate, easily distinguishable by his grizzled mane of hair.

"Pardon the intrusion," he said as he approached quickly, his yellow eyes scanning the banquet and cake, a mid-sized pouch in his left hand, "Many happy returns."

"Thanks," said Harry stiffly.

"I require a private word with you," Scrimgeour went on. "Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Miss Hermione Granger. Is Miss Maeve Snape here as well?"

"Us?" said Ron in surprise. "Why us?"

"I shall tell you that when we're somewhere more private," said Scrimgeour, digging around in the pouch for a bundle of papers which he handed to Maeve. "Is there such a place?" he demanded of Mr. Weasley.

"Yes, of course," Mr. Weasley said, looking nervous. "Er, use the sitting room!"

Maeve stared avidly at the stack of papers, noticing out of the corner of her eye the intrigued look Hermione was giving them as she walked away.

With all four of them out of sight, everybody began to whisper to each other, about conspiracy and infiltration and any number of other things.

Maeve opened the stack of papers and skimmed it over, suddenly becoming giddy at their contents.

"What's got you so excited?" Tonks inquired.

"Research, Tonks, research! The very best kind!"

* * *

After the Minister left, Maeve stashed the papers in her room in a discarded box under a few low-key detection wards, not wanting to draw interest to it.

Hermione came out to the table for Harry's Birthday Dinner, looking teary and a little distraught, and Maeve immediately comforted her. Everyone sang Happy Birthday to Harry in a very rushed way, and immediately began eating in a frenzied, starved manner.

"What's up?" Maeve asked quietly, filling her plate.

"Oh, I'm just being hormonal," she replied, swiping at her reddened eyes. "Dumbledore left me a book of children's tales, and I just broke down in front of everybody, it was so embarrassing!"

Maeve tilted Hermione's chin up to meet her eyes, wiping at a few of the excess stray tears with her thumbs. "Never be afraid to show your humanity. It's the lack of it that's the problem with the world, and we need all we can get. Besides, it's one of my favorite things about you."

Hagrid sat on Maeve's other side, and seemed not to hear this, as he was in the middle of talking to Charlie Weasley about dragons.

"So, Maeve, what do you think your next plans are?" asked a curious Bill from across the table.

Swallowing her mouth full of melon, she replied "Hogwarts, I think."

"Why 'Ogwarts?" Fleur wondered. They apparently hadn't been at the meeting.

"If you want to know, I think you might like to talk to McGonagall, because the fewer people know the truth the easier this will be to keep a secret."

"She's the one who told us to ask you."

Maeve sighed. "Alright. Well, er, McGonagall decided that we still need information, and since the spy kind of isn't a spy anymore, she decided to install me in as one. We're about 90% sure my uncle is going to be appointed as the Headmaster, so she wants me to collect intelligence from him by re-gaining his trust."

"But don't you hate him?" Bill asked skeptically.

"No. I don't. I hate what he did, but I still love him."

Fleurs eyes went wide. "What? 'Ow could you?"

"I see what he is and what he does, and I haven't forgiven him for it, but I don't hate him. I try not to hate anybody, actually, and I shall try to curb his more totalitarian tendencies while I'm with him."

Bill looked to be in deep thought, but Hermione looked proud.

"Good, he needs to be stopped. If he's the Headmaster, the whole school will be like a dictatorship! But I bet anything that Neville and the rest of the DA will fight back." Ron piped in from next to Bill, having entered the conversation somewhat late.

"Yeah, that's sort of what I'm afraid of. We'll need it to happen, yes, but if I'm in cahoots with the bad guys, they'll see me as a target too, and an easy one at that."

"Not a coward are you?" Harry asked quietly.

Maeve laughed heartily at this. "No, not in the slightest; but one of little, out of practice me against a dozen of big, well trained them doesn't seem like too good of a set of odds, yeah?"

"Out of practice?" Hermione questioned.

"The last time I've actually had to defend myself in the last two years with a wand was when Death Eaters attacked my house and I had to escape as quickly as possible without getting killed, and that was just because they dramatically underestimated me."

"Why did they come in the first place, anyways? I know they were there to kill you, but why? You aren't Muggleborn, or a muggle, or really anybody I've heard of since last month," Ron wondered aloud.

"Er, well," she grinned sheepishly, "I, ah, beat the hell out of this one tall broad bloke for busting into my lab and demanding things from me at wand point. His face won't be the same ever again, I believe."

"Dolohov?"

"Yeah, that's him I think. I didn't have my wand on me, and there was a cleaver, and something happened and then he was bleeding on the floor. Can't quite remember what, but it must have been bad."

"Let me get this straight. You fought off, and injured, a fully grown hostile man, with no magic?"

Maeve gave a nervous titter. "Yeah, scared the hell out of me."

"Now, now, now, let's not get into talk of such dark things, this is Harry's birthday! Surely there's something better?" Mrs. Wealsey scolded them from a few seats away during a lull in her conversation.

"Quidditch," suggested Hermione with a sarcastic tone.

"Nah, we've talked about that quite a lot lately," Harry said, and Hermione was genuinely surprised.

"Am I hallucinating? Is Harry Potter actually admitting to talking too much about Quidditch?"

Harry blushed. "Well, you can only beat the same bush so many times before you have to stand back and let it grow, right?"

Ginny, who was next to Hermione, laughed and engaged Harry and Ron in talk of aurorship, which from the sounds of things were something all three of them were contemplating as career paths. Hermione was talking to Fleur about French Culture and the wedding, and Charlie was telling a story from Romania to Bill, which left only Maeve and the considerably large man beside her who had resolutely ignored her the entire time.

After she fully finished her considerable mound of food, she decided it would be best to try and talk him out of it.

In an attempt to break the ice, she lightly tapped his arm, just enough to get his attention through the hairy suit he was wearing. "Hello there, I don't think we've met yet. I'm Maeve," she said with a tentative smile.

"'M Rubeus Hagrid."

After a bit of silence, Maeve pressed on. "Professor McGonagall told me you've been the Care of Magical Creatures Professor at Hogwarts for a few years now?"

"Yeah," he replied gruffly. "What's it to yeh?"

Clearing her throat, she replied "I've always liked animals from the Wizarding World. I used to have a full blooded Kneazle living in the forest in my back yard, and I've always thought the giant intelligent spiders, whose names I cannot pronounce for the life of me, are really impressive."

Suddenly forgetting he was ignoring her, Hagrid began to tell the tales of Aragog, the Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest, (who Maeve assumed was) his girlfriend, Olympe, who bred giant, flying, whiskey drinking horses. Hagrid had this light in his beetle black eyes that spoke of his passion, even as he rattled on about three headed dogs, and chimeras and something he'd bred out himself called a "Blast Ended Skrewt".

Happy Hagrid was no longer in complete dislike of her, Maeve allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with Hermione once more, ecstatic within for having those beautiful honey eyes back on her.

"I saw your gift from Dumbledore," she commented, fiddling idly with the simple charm bracelet on Maeve's wrist. "What is it?"

"It's some research the Professor and I did over the summer, and I think there's more there than there was when I last saw it, so I can't wait to see what he's added. It's about a few odds and ends, like alchemy and wandless magic and whatnot, but I hope to be able to use what we think might be some sort of trigger to harness elemental magic using a few other components. The usual stuff," she rambled, delighting in the sensation of Hermione's dainty fingers dancing over her wrist.

"Ooh, that'll be interesting! I've talked to a friend of mine, Neville, about being able to control the water in plants to make them do particular things, and he said that that's actually what magical florists do to arrange plants and vines. I've also read about the connections between wandless and elemental magic because they're both so basic and instinctual from the birth of a witch or wizard, and even in some magical creatures," she paused for breath, and swatted Maeve's leg when she grinned at Hermione's enthusiasm.

"There's this book by Nicholas Flamel, who was a friend of Dumbledore's, that talked about being able to control things like lightning, wind, fire, rocks, and water without wands like children do, and like older wizards and witches did before we began to use tree branches and the like. He even wrote that if one were to hone their skills over time even while using a wand for the more mundane tasks, you could conceivably cast almost any spell without a wand, as long as you used your hands or feet in its stead."

Maeve smiled, nodding in acquiescence. "Yes, that's what the research is about. When I had problems as a little kid controlling my magic when I was angry, he got me interested in training to use this type of magic. I can do a few things," she told her, demonstrating by parting the grass just next to their chairs, and levitated the water and rocks from the small hole separately before allowing them to fall. "There's a certain feel for it you have to get, this extrasensory sort of thing as silly as that sounds, and it's a lot like being able to sense magic from another person. It takes a lot of concentration, but it's useful in frays where your wand isn't with you."

"Oh, I'd love to learn how to do that if you'd teach me!" Hermione exclaimed in excitement.

"I can show you tonight before bed, and I guess you can practice whenever you have time, it's not really something you can do all day without exhausting yourself on all planes."

"Alright," she grinned, almost bouncing in her chair, a charming smile showing her perfect teeth.

* * *

Maeve set into making her clothing choices for the next day, ensuring that her dress was made and still fit, that her shoes were scuff-proofed, and that her wand was shined and buffed.

That evening after everyone was beginning to turn in, Hermione reappeared from where she'd been planning with Ron and Harry about their mysterious trip. Maeve had been running interference, making sure Mrs. Weasley was properly occupied going over all the plans and making sure everyone who needed to be there would, and backup foods were ready to be prepared.

She also had made sure nobody else would be coming up to the top floor because she had commandeered the room at the top of the tower with the most windows to brew in, and she had a particularly foul concoction going to drive away anybody who would dare intrude; it would also so mask the scent of her batch of contraceptive which would last the newlyweds more than half a year.

Now the both of them were down in the back yard under a tree sitting in the grass as the night fell.

"What do I get to do first?"

Maeve pulled a simple pebble out of her pocket and handed it to Hermione. "Try feeling this."

Hermione grabbed it and held it out in her hand, staring at it harshly as though it had in some way personally offended her.

"No no, feel it. With your magic. Close your eyes, and sense it, focus on it in its entirety, on the smooth planes, and the rock particles themselves."

While Hermione's eyes were closed, forehead creased slightly in concentration, and pretty mouth set in a straight line, Maeve took the time to appraise her. Her hair was untamed, a light brown even in the dim lights of the late evening. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were of a slightly darker tone, and her nose was slightly turned up. Her mouth, the distracting thing, was a light pink, and pale in its current pressed together position.

Suddenly, the pebble began to vibrate, and the crease between Hermione's eyes deepened slightly. The pebble lifted slightly above her palm, and then began to rotate. Maeve was impressed, but then it disintegrated into sand and went everywhere. Hermione opened her eyes to see what had happened, and frowned further in frustration.

"Oh, but I had it!" she grumbled.

"That was actually really good for your first try," Maeve murmured, leaning over to wipe the dust from Hermione's freckled cheeks.

Hermione looked up into Maeve's eyes, still hints of frustration left in them from her failure.

"You're very pretty," Maeve told her lightly, giving her a small smile.

Hermione blushed. "I know I'm not much to look at, you don't have to lie to me to make me feel better about it."

Maeve frowned, and gathered the younger girl sideways into her lap. "Let me see here," she whispered against the delicate skin. She kissed her jaw, her chin, her cheekbones, ears, nose, eyelids, and forehead, declaring beauty with every chaste press.

"I can't fathom the blindness of the person who'd think you unworthy," she told her solemnly, kissing her down the neck and over her collarbone.

Taking a small delicate hand in hers, she pressed more kisses to the palm and delicate flesh between her fingers, to their tips, down the soft skin of her unmarred forearm and shoulders, when Hermione pulled a fast one on her and straddled her lap, grabbed both wrists, and pinned her back on the ground beneath her in a flurry of movement.

Between kisses all over Maeve's face and exposed upper chest, she growled "You always get to do the kissing."

The straps of the dark blue dress Maeve had on did little to cover her shoulders, which were now being peppered with kisses. Finally, she moved her hot, wet tongue over the side of Maeve's neck and she sighed, signaling Hermione to start sucking hard. Moaning and bowing her back only served to spur on the onslaught, and the constant grinding was driving her mad. One hand securely binding Maeve's wrists, the other snaked down and lifted the skirt of her dress higher, skimming over the pale flesh.

"You'll be the death of me, woman," Maeve said breathlessly.

"Any time," Hermione replied and rolled off to lie in the grass panting, finished with her self-appointed task of giving the older girl a love bite.

Both of them disheveled and breathing heavy, they started to giggle into the darkness.

"Randy little vixen," Maeve laughed.

"Dirty… dress wearing… er-"

"Harlot?"

They both continued to laugh heartily.

"You're awful and I love it," Maeve told her happily.

"Oh and you're any better?" Hermione grinned.

"What shall I call you, anyways?" Maeve wondered out loud after their giggling had subsided.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you'll be gone, and you must know that people just love me to death, the lot of them, and if I don't get asked out once a week I haven't left my house, and I'm sure somebody at your school will, you know, ask," she rambled, beginning to blush.

Hermione was rolled over on her side, Capri pants and old shirt serving to highlight her feminine beauty.

"You can be my girlfriend… if you want to," Hermione replied in a small voice, seeming to be very interested in a beetle crawling over a flower in the grass.

"Thank you," Maeve replied. "But only if you can be my girlfriend back. Because I'd really like that."

Hermione looked up and smiled, nodding.

"Good."


	5. Chapter 5

The Wedding Reception was beautiful, with many people Maeve and Hermione didn't know personally, but had heard of. Harry was blending in with the Weasley family, some kid with red hair, as there were more gingers in this one place than Maeve had ever seen. The couple sat with Ron, Harry, and the famed Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, who seemed a little too familiar with Hermione for Maeve's slightly jealous mind.

Finally, when she thought she'd had enough of the brooding man's familiarity with her girlfriend, her face feeling a little hot, Maeve asked a blushing Hermione if she'd like to dance. As they walked toward the dance floor, she heard Krum say "What is the point of being famous when all the pretty girls are taken?" and smirked wickedly.

As they took their positions for the next song, a simple lazy waltz put into the selection to encourage conversation. Hermione laid her head on Maeve's shoulder, and she grinned at their slight height difference.

"I'm sorry about Viktor. I hadn't been able to write him in more than a month because of secrecy, so I didn't tell him about us yet. I would have, you know," Hermione told Maeve nervously.

After a moment of thought, she replied "It's not a big deal, as long as he gets the point and you're not getting all twitterpated over him again."

Hermione smiled and repositioned her head on Maeve's shoulder. "No. Not him."

They danced around, and Hermione asked suddenly "Are my ankles too skinny?"

Maeve chuckled and replied "How can ankles be too skinny? I think your ankles do their job quite well as they have yet to encroach upon our time together by failing miserably at keeping you up, and if it's any consolation they're quite lovely. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I'm just being self concious. Ron's aunt told me-"

"The nasty old woman talking to Harry right now by any chance?"

Hermione glance over during a turn.

"Yes, her… You really think they're lovely? My ankles, I mean?"

"Yes," Maeve replied, and brought the hand she was holding up to her face, kissing the slim wrist and forearm, and finally the shorter girl's forehead. "And quite frankly the rest of you as well."

Hermione giggled and kissed her on the cheek, their dance continuing.

Finally, the song ended, and Hermione pulled her back to an empty table, where Harry and Ron both soon joined them.

"You're prepared?" Maeve asked suddenly, her face betraying none of the happiness it had held just moments ago.

"Yes, I did as you asked, it's all in here," Hermione replied, holding up her satchel.

"Good, stay close together no matter what, and the moment the wards break, run."

Harry and Ron looked confused, but Hermione drew her wand just as a ball of silver rocketed into the midst of the dance floor, and the hidden members of the Order of the Phoenix drew their wands as well.

The silver wolf said in Kingsley Shackle bolts voice "The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming" and all hell broke loose.

The golden trio stood and Hermione apparated herself and her friends out when they felt the wards shatter, and Maeve finished her drink calmly at the table she sat at, even as the Death Eaters began to apparate in.

Sliding under the table, she got her wand out of its hidden holster on her thigh and transformed her clothes into something more suitable, then magically braided her long hair to keep it out of the way. She waited patiently for one of the Death Eaters to walk by before launching into action and forced the table into them, effectively knocking them out of the ensuing fray.

Joining in the Orders side of the fight, she closed out all her emotions a calm mask of indifference overcoming her face as black eyes turned icy. She fought alongside Professor McGonagall as she entered keeping her back clear and shielding for her when she was loading a particularly powerful spell.

One, on the left. Two, attacking the escaping party guests. Three, dead in an instant. Four, and five, and six. On and on, the number of black clad men and women going down, being driven out and away.

Light and sound and flying blood splatter, torn dresses, screams of pain, shattering of bone, the chaos continued until the final Death Eaters retreated, but their damage was done.

Maeve had been forced to watch in almost emotional limbo as Mad Eye Moody fell for the last time, and was taken away.

Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley sat with several other Weasleys were crowded around the twins. Maeve walked over, allowing her emotions to resurface from the deep cold sea of Occlumency she'd been under. George lay with his head in his mother's lap, one ear missing with a towel pressed over the bleeding.

Tears running down her face with the shock of what had happened, Maeve asked quietly "Do you know which spell caused it?"

"No," Lupin replied from somewhere on her left. "Not the exact one, but it was Snape. One of his spells. The cutting one."

Everyone in the vicinity stiffened as Maeve exhaled deeply. "Thank you."

Summoning the needed medical materials, she solemnly and slowly knelt down next to a sobbing Molly and the earless twin, Fred now coming onto the scene.

"George! George, how do you feel?"

A light grin drawing over the ginger man's face, he replied "Saint like."

Maeve sighed and chuckled slightly, going over the wound to clean it up before she performed the counter curse. He was still okay.

"What's wrong with him?" Fred asked urgently. "His mind's not affected is it?"

"That is the single worst pun I have ever heard," Maeve grumbled.

"Saint like" George grinned. "You see… I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?"

Mrs. Weasleys sobs grew harder. Fred's face colored. Maeve handed the older woman another tissue as she worked, almost ready to begin the chant.

"Pathetic," Fred told him. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear related humor before you, you go for holey?"

"Ah well," George said, grinning at his tear soaked mother. "You'll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum."

"Are you ready for the counter curse, now, George?" Maeve asked quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm ready."

"What will it do?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Er, well the cutting curse that was used is meant to keep the wound open and actually draws blood to and out of the wound, and this stops that and heals the affected skin. There'll be no regrowing the ear, the curse was quite dark, but he'll heal."

She leaned forward some, put her now sanitized wand tip on his cleaned skull, and began the soft, almost song-like chant in Latin.

The tissues, thankfully not too far apart from each other, began to knit back together, leaving only the hole left for I'm to hear out of. "Can you still hear me out of this one?"

"Yeah, I can. Thanks, Maeve," George told her, his hand coming up to feel around the wound. She handed him a large flask which to her surprise he drank almost immediately.

"Don't drink all of it at once!" she warned him, making a grab for the flask even as he finished the last drop.

"Why not?" he asked petulantly.

"Because you're about to pass out from overconsumption of super concentrated Blood Replenisher. For two weeks until the blood cells that are being created as we speak die, all of your blood vessels will be engorged, your fingers will be puffy, and you'll be as red as your hair until everything works its way through your system."

George smiled and fell asleep almost immediately.

Maeve packed up the medi-kit, re-sanitized her wand, and headed towards the house.

"Where do you think you're going?" Tonks asked suddenly from behind her even as she walked steadily towards the front door.

"Hogwarts," answered Professor McGonagall in Maeve's stead. "To begin spying."


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you mean they've run off?"

McGonagall sat in the Headmaster's chair as acting Headmistress (everyone was still waiting on the Ministry's appointment, but most of them had bet it would be Snape) looking flustered and tired.

"Molly told me this morning Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't come back after the disaster at Bill and Fleur's Wedding. We can't locate them, and that can be taken both ways, either good because if we can't then Voldemort can't, but that may also mean if they get into trouble we won't be able to get to them." Lupin reported.

Maeve was now sworn into the Order, a full member, and was ready to take her task. It wasn't as if she hadn't apprenticed before with her mum to get her last job, but now it was to take over as Potions Master and Professor in the case of Slughorn's health "falling dismally" as he was on the "verge of collapse" as it were, what with all the stress of war. Hmph

In any case, Hermione was gone.

It was odd, ever since Maeve had come into this entirely different world of warfare and spydom, Hermione had been there. The whole month, which felt shorter than it was, she'd been right by Maeve's side. Not necessarily at her beck and call, as she'd been researching some pretty dark stuff which was supposed to be for the trip they were going on, but Maeve had decided not to ask about it for fear of seeming suspicious. Not that she wasn't suspicious enough already, mind you, but there was no need for anything more to make matters worse.

The school was dismally quiet in the halls, only the sound of footsteps as she and McGonagall were walking down to the Dungeon Potions classroom.

Finally, McGonagall spoke up with her Scottish accent. "You'll be taking over Horace's lower level courses to give the impression of lightening his load, this has to be believable. I'm to assume you don't know how this place works, eh?"

"No, I never attended."

"Well, I expect you to be a fast learner because you'll have to give off the impression of knowing every nook and cranny. You'll also be sorted tomorrow, before anyone can suspect you don't belong, and we'll be going over the layout of the school together while I do the annual inspections."

Maeve nodded. Down in the moist air and flagstone corridors lit by wall torches, they came to a stop in front of a large door.

"This is the Potions classroom, and just down the hall and to the left is the entrance to your new rooms, Snape's old ones. You should require the students call you Miss or Ma'am, and either of your names will suffice though I daresay you might want to use the first." They entered the well lit room, which turned out to be a cheerily decorated well stocked room which she would later learn was a direct representation of her "mentor".

"You should find everything you need here, and if not, talk to Horace. His office is up a few floors, which we'll visit tomorrow. Now, to your rooms."

They exited the classroom, locking it, and went around the corner to come to a tapestry that blended perfectly in the walls. It pulled aside to reveal a simple door, which led into sparsely decorated rooms. A large living area with a fireplace, sofa, armchair, and unused bookshelves dominating every visible wall space except the mantle were in view, along with two doors.

"This one leads to your bedroom, which had a bathroom off the side, and this one is a private brewing space up to quite strict specifications. It couldn't be stripped like everything else, so much of what your Uncle had in it before he left is still in there. If you need anything, the floo is open to my office, and you may attend any meal you like up in the great hall, just off the side of the entrance hall, can't miss it," she then lit the fire in the grate, took a handful of glittering powder from the dish on the mantle and disappeared with a cry of "Hogwarts Headmistress' Office!"

Now, Maeve was alone. She stared at the space.

She had with her a small bag, with generally needed items, clothes and toiletries and the like, and even a picture of Hermione she'd duplicated from one at the Weasleys, but other than those few precious things, she had nothing left to her name, and she felt it.

Steeling herself, she took out her wand and began to work, thankful for her knowledge of household charms from her old life, the walls color turned dark blue, all of the accent parts bright white and the furniture was restored to its' former glory.

She duplicated the chair, making sure it was a permanent one and not just some timed dopple-ganger, and scoured the floor to reveal the luster of black stone, generally glad to have something resembling home with her.

She continued the same pattern of color into the bedroom and bathroom, scouring the appliances and bathtub to a sparkling white. The mirror was saved from its dismal state of disrepair (she'd think on that later), and the bed springs of her four-poster were restored to springiness.

Clean sheets and a duvet appeared and righted themselves, a blessing because she hadn't been so sure where to get any, and now all was left to look at was the brewing space.

Sitting her things on the bed, she walked into the wide, long, spacious room which was absolutely her uncle down to the almost obsessively specific arrangement of things. Cauldrons of all sorts lined up in huge heavy duty shelves on the back wall, arranged alphabetically by the ingredients used to make them, the spoons, ladles, stirrers, and vials done in the same fashion.

Inspection of the place finished, Maeve put her things into the wardrobe and sat down on the bed, tears coming to her eyes.

Her parents were dead, her uncle was nowhere to be found, pet killed, home destroyed, life ruined, job forfeit, girlfriend on some perilous secretive journey, all screwed up into a big knot of empty pain in her chest.

Maeve had once had all sorts of ideas that she was an adult know, with a stable job, a good house, and wonderful friends, and that things could only get better, but now the worse had happened and she was scrambled up in a war she'd never wanted to be a part of.

Was this how the others in the Order felt too?

Deciding there was nothing to be gained by moping about her situation, she sat her mouth in a thin line of determination and shook the anguish away, got out a scrap of parchment and a quill, and wrote down the things she'd need.

-Teaching clothes

-Books (lots)

-Ballpoint Pens

-Second Wand

-Ever inking quills

-Sanity

-Socks

-Shampoo

-Nightclothes

-Parchment

-Alcohol

Happy with it, she wondered how she would procure these things. Hermione told her there was a magic village just outside the grounds.

She grabbed a second one and wrote a formal missive for Gringotts on the current state of her account. Her house and muggle vehicle had been insured with the huge Wizarding bank, and she was expecting the sum to have been added to her account, which would be more than enough for her to make do until the end of the war.

Seeing her balance, she asked for a copy of her vault number and admittance code for that day, which she pocketed, and set on her way up and out of the castle.

Deciding on her best course of action, she continued to the village with no little amount of trepidation, and found some of the places she would definitely be visiting.

After everything she needed was in her possession, Maeve ventured back up to the castle to stock her room with what she had and brainstorm ideas for clothes with the many bolts of fabric she'd purchased before dinner.

That night, after having been acquainted with all the other teachers who look on her with a cold politeness, she curled up in bed with Dumbledore's willed research and her recently made clothes to begin reading.

* * *

Weeks before the official announcement was made, Severus Snape arrived at Hogwarts for a staff meeting to go over the staff contract and negotiate the schedules for students.

He was a few hours early, and Maeve stood a ways away, their identical black eyes scanning each other with a glint familiarity.

To be quite frank, he looked like shit. His face, Circe bless it, had never been in the best shape at the best of times, but he'd neglected himself and been neglected to the point of an Azkaban-like gauntness. His hair was more horridly unkempt than usual, there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked bordering on anorexic beneath all his robes which hid it well, and she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't seen him for weeks on end for the last twelve years.

Maeve motioned for him to follow her, and so he did, down the pathways of stone to her room, where as soon as the door closed she embraced him gently, and not knowing if he was hurt. He was only slightly taller than she, by maybe half a head. Severus very lightly patted her on the back.

"You look like hell," he said roughly, taking her by the shoulders to separate them and to look her over up close.

"Cauldron calling the kettle black," she replied, wrapping her fingers around the bony wrist of his left hand that was hardly touching her shoulder.

"The Order, I presume, has allowed you entrance, then?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, they did, and McGonagall suggested I come here," she replied. "I wish I hadn't had to sacrifice my house for it, but I guess that's how it goes, eh?"

"Yeah, they'll take your soul too if you're not careful," he replied grimly. Severus looked past her to the room beyond, and there was a hint of approval at her choices. "It looks better. More like your house."

"Thanks. Have you eaten yet today?" she asked, approaching the couch where he had ventured for a better look.

"No." It was past noon, and she hid her pity.

"Would you like to have lunch?"

"...I suppose that would be acceptable."

He summoned a house elf, which scared the hell out of Maeve, and ordered for them whatever the staff was having. They sat on the couch.

"Potter, Weasley, and Granger..." he paused seeing her flinch "... are off doing as Dumbledore asked them... Did you find out what that is by any chance?"

Sighing, she replied "No, I didn't. Hermione was researching it fairly hard though. Dark books, but none I knew."

"Dumbledore's portrait shan't be very forthcoming if it's anything like its subject, I would venture to guess."

"Most likely not."

"You're crying," he told her bluntly.

Maeve hadn't noticed, and wiped her face off, suppressing a sniffle. He handed her a handkerchief passively.

"Are you being overstressed?"

"Yes and no. I've almost completely adjusted so far, it's just I haven't seen you in a year or so, and everything's changed quite a lot since then," she whispered.

"I see some of Granger has rubbed off on you."

Maeve immediately blushed beet red.

"You didn't," Severus' eyes widened, catching the insinuation she had gotten from his words that he hadn't.

"No! She's only seventeen," Maeve replied defensively.

"You got involved with-" he cut himself off, scrubbing his face tiredly. "Your parents would be appalled at how much you've turned out like me despite their precautions."

Maeve blushed further and prepared the tea when the service appeared with their plates of food. "I only knew her for a month, give me a break," she grumbled.

He rolled his eyes and took the proffered cup and saucer, tea prepared his usual way.

"Back on the subject at hand, there are two teachers, the Carrow's, coming directly from the Dark Lords finest and worst, and so you'll need to be on your toes. Student lives will be in danger, and their safety is paramount. I shall have to make them believe what I must about Hagrid and his ways of punishment, and that will need to be the main place they are sent if you haven't the time to do the detentions yourself, which I suggest anyways." He drank, and between sips mentioned: "You'll be the Deputy Headmistress, by the way."

Maeve stared at him, stuttering incoherently, gaping like a fish.

"Yes, I believe there are a few wordy clauses in the by-laws that allow for any staff member to be appointed as needed, and I can't have McGonagall murderously glaring at me on more occasions than are needed. I would have the Carrow's, but they've a likelier chance of abusing their power in ways that would curdle even my stomach."

Severus then nonchalantly grabbed his food as though he hadn't just heaped an entirely new and uncalled for load on Maeve's head, and began to eat like a starved animal.

"B-but I don't know how to-to-" she began in shock.

"Neither do I, but there'll be an entire wall of previous headmasters and headmistresses to help, and I'm sure you can convince Minerva to give you direction, as she is technically the one who personally thrust you into all this."

Maeve took her own plate and ate in silence, thinking over all she'd been told.

Severus finished ages before she did (which was no wonder with his rapid pace) and made himself another cuppa. As she ate, he further informed her about things.

"Because of Horace's obviously faked condition, you'll be taking over some of his classes, but as lazy of an old Slytherin as he is, you'll be doing more than what he'll let on in the first place so be prepared." He sipped from his cup. "Which reminds me, congratulations on your sorting. Hufflepuff suits you well enough, and they're not too hard a bunch to get on with, I'm told."

Maeve finished her lunch and sat the plate back down on the huge tray, and it disappeared immediately.

"Thanks," she replied, still in shock.

"Dumbledore's papers were given to you in full and unscathed, I trust?"

"Yes, I've finished reading them Sunday night."

"Good. Use them."

They lapsed into silence just as the fireplace flared to life a crackling green. McGonagall's face appeared in the flames, stern at the sight of Severus.

"The meeting is in twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Professor," Maeve replied politely, and the stern-faced woman vanished.

Sighing and groaning as he stood, Severus asked "Off to battle, then?"

Maeve looked a little worriedly at him, standing as well and adjusted her clothes. "Strategy?"

"I'm a hard-arse, you're indifferent except for certain rules, which I shall so graciously allow you to confer upon as my second in command, but you'll have to push for what you want. Give facts. And don't usurp my authority, but bash on the Carrow's. Assert yourself over them, especially when they try and insult you."

"Great," she sighed, preparing herself. "Shall we then?"

* * *

Walking into the large meeting chamber blow the Headmasters Office, Maeve shadowed Severus and looked the part of an aloof, indifferent, loyal clone.

Sneering grandly, Severus ordered the staff to sit like Maeve imagined he would a class of first years. Some of them looked to him in anger, but others avoided his eyes.

Maeve sat on Severus' right side next to Minerva, and across from the Carrow pair, both of them squat and dark and vile looking, with matching evil smiles to match.

Everyone was passed a sheet and a quill for notes as per usual, and the meeting commenced.

Everyone had to state aloud their name, rank, and subject, which was a part of the contracts magical binding.

When Maeve's turn came up, the entire room went dead silent, even the portraits on the walls ceased their prattling.

"SHE'S DEPUTY?" Amycus Carrow exclaimed.

"I'll kill you right now you little-" Alecto Carrow growled, drawing her wand.

"Shut up and kiss my arse will you?"

Both of them stopped talking immediately.

"W-What did you just-"

"You heard me. And if you don't comply, I'm sure your bodies will be a perfect donation to my supply of ingredients. Weighing the livers of my enemies gives me such pleasure," she told them, her face never leaving it's passive state, but the moment one of them moved to get their wands, Maeve's face twisted into one of baleful severity. "We could-"

"Silence," was Snape's calm command, and Maeve relaxed almost immediately.

"Yes sir," and she was stoic again, not making eye contact with anyone, sitting straight, and waiting for the next bit of the contract to be read.

"You see, she's far more adept to following my orders than you ever will be. Loyal to a fault, but still has a mind of her own. Two traits neither of you have ever shown any aptitude for. She's perfect for the job. If you wish to complain again, maybe you should take your concerns to the Dark Lord, as that worked so very well last time you usurped my authority over you. I expect you to behave in a more professional manner befitting this institution, despite your obvious ineptitude."

Mention of the Dark Lord had the rest of the staff even more nervous looking. Both of the Carrow's relaxed as well with quiet fury and the meeting went on. They made their demands tersely, and things like class times, the schedule for patrol, detention parameters, pay, and contacts in case of emergency or sudden death were all worked out over the next five grueling hours.

"Medical Leave," announced Severus for the next topic.

"Three weeks paid leave for injuries and diseases with Healer Approval. All months of pregnancy happening within the school year that the subject must be out of work covered. Both Paternal and Maternal. No exceptions."

All eyes in the room landed on Maeve.

"Why?" Snape asked evenly.

"Because that's average, and any one of these people, including you, can agree that real paid medical leave is a blessing in an emergency."

"Good enough," Severus sighed and spoke the terms of agreement to the parchment.

After all of the jots and tittles were gone back over to make sure everyone was in agreement, the participants had to sign in their designated spots along with their job title.

"That shall be all. I expect absolute perfection and nothing less when I return the day prior to start of term. A day that will be spent going over punishment and educational requirements and restraints… Everything will be explained at the Feast, Maeve will do the sorting, and Sunday after will be the first monthly staff meeting as per usual. You are dismissed."

The whole staff (excluding Maeve) was slightly affronted by this attitude, but they all left Maeve and Severus sitting alone.

"I'll see you then, I suppose," she told him quietly after casting a silencing charm on the door and walls, because she could almost hear the Carrow's outside awaiting her exit.

"Yes. Be prepared. Ask Minerva as many questions as she can handle without being driven barmy, and try to act casually. Remember, student safety and welfare is at the top of the list for you. Your main charges will be the first and seventh years. The first are to be protected, they're the youngest, newest, and therefore most vulnerable. The Seventh Years, however, are to be contained. Make sure they know that lashing out will only produce more pain in the long run, and that their general silence as a whole, especially the Gryffindor's, will result in an easier time," he replied, scrubbing his face like he always did when he was tired. He gave her a small shrug, and got up to leave.

"I love you, Uncle Severus."

He turned slightly to make eye contact with her for a moment, nodded, and continued to the fireplace to Floo out, motioning for her to follow.


	7. Chapter 7

The students were almost due to arrive. Maeve waited near where they were supposed to come in on the boats beneath the side of the castle, what she wanted to say bouncing around in her head, the sorting hat and stool waiting for her near the room the First Years would be standing around in when she got there.

Her hair was fixed specifically to give her face away easily, a simple braid down her back to keep it out of the food. She met the house elves, and memorized the layout of the castle and it's small quirks, like bad stairs and faux doors to look out for. The robes she had on and the dark shade of plum of her dress beneath it were enough to pass for an almost-teacher thing, but it was all up to her boots (the ones she'd nicknamed ass-kickers) for intimidation.

To be quite frank, she was on the verge of an anxiety attack, but determined not to let it show in front of anybody but her Uncle for fear of them thinking her weak, and therefore easy to step all over. She had endured the hate-filled looks of the Carrow's, but it was obvious Severus had made it clear that she was not to be touched, and he'd mentioned they believed he would be the one to punish her if need be. She didn't see that going over so well. He never raised a hand to her in his life, never needed to; a single look could quell her meanest streak and cause all her lies to dissolve as they came to her mind. Maybe they would improvise some screams and bruises with a glamour? She didn't know.

The class of forty five eleven year olds stood before her, drenched to the bone from the unrelenting rain that had plagued them that evening. She held the list of their names; the original list had been in the seventies when she first looked it over, but quite a lot of the students hadn't replied to scouting letters to be counted.

She took out her wand, which startled many of them.

"It's alright, you have nothing to fear from me. I'm only going to dry all of you off. Is that alright?"

Most of them visibly relaxed, and she waited until a few nods of assent were given before performing a simple drying charm on them.

"Now that you're all not looking like fish, I'm here to take you to the sorting. You will be sorted into one of four House Groups: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. The House you're in will be like a family. You will live with people from that House in your dormitories, attend classes with those in your year, and sit at the table with them. Do you understand?"

More nods.

"As a warning, do not expect kindness here, from anyone. You must all be aware of the War, and the circumstances that surround us. The Headmaster, the Custodian Mr. Filch, and the Carrow Professors will not be kind. If you need anything please ask a prefect of your House, your House advisor, an older student, or if you don't feel comfortable going to anyone, you may come to me at any time of the day unless I'm having class. My office hours end late and start early, and if it's late my rooms are just around the corner. Your first line of defense is keeping yourself out of trouble, and away from the spotlight. Learn to defend yourself with magic if at all possible, and don't hesitate to ask me for help. Are we all of one accord?"

Many more nods this time, and several frightened faces.

"Alright, let's go."

* * *

Neville had suffered from a curse on the train ride in because of that Death Eater scum (and his own cheek). Thankfully his mate, Seamus Finnegan, knew the counter curse off the top of his head and got him out of it.

He had lost all of his chubbiness this past year, and finally made his grandmother fix his teeth with magic, though not too much or else it would be overly noticeable. He hoped everyone would be ready for the DA to have regular meetings beginning A.S.A.P., and had their coins at the ready.

Hogwarts wasn't going to be the same this year. Bloody Snape was Headmaster this year, and he'd read in a snippet of the article announcing his Headship that his niece would be there, teaching and apprenticing for Professor Slughorn who was becoming ill. He hoped she didn't take after Snape too much, but that was to be determined. Maybe he could pull her over to their side? But then again, they may be anticipating that in hopes of setting her up as a spy. He'd have to ask Professor McGonagall about it.

Seamus was quiet along with the rest of the cabin. They'd taken Luna Lovegood right off the train, and Dean had gone into hiding over the summer. Lavender and Parvati were in the train cabin as well, and all four of them stuck together on the ride to the castle in the pelting rain on the carriages. Neville could see the Thestrals now, and it made his mood darken even more.

The Castle itself seemed more somber, less inviting. There were Dementors flying around all above them, just outside of what Neville imagined were the castles wards. Just as the gates opened for them to enter, lightning and rumbling thunder reverberated around them. The carriages, thankfully, took them to the front doors, and allowed them to get off and out of the rain as quickly as was possible.

Inside the Castle was dreary, with none of its original warmth, despite the torches on the walls offering plenty of light for them to see by. The Great Hall was no better, and Neville immediately noticed that Snape was in Dumbledore's seat, Professor McGonagall was sitting for the first time since he'd been in the school, without being the one to introduce the First Years and have them sorted. The empty seat to Snape's immediate right where McGonagall usually sat gave him a clue, and he was prepared to wait for her to see.

The schools attendance was spotty as Neville had predicted, students either in hiding, at home, or dead. Two new faces were at the high table on the far end, most likely the Carrow siblings he'd read and heard about. Nasty blighters.

As soon as the room was as full as it was going to get, Snape simply raised a hand and swiped at the air, the doors flying open to reveal a particularly young looking pretty woman that had to be Neville's age at least, with the telling hair and eyes to match her Uncles. This was Maeve Snape. She held the Hat and Stool in hand as the frightened looking Firsties filed in behind her in two rows. The class size was comparable to Neville's, and his was one of the smallest since the seventeen hundreds.

The hat held no song except for a small sentence holding little help for them.

"Choose wisely."

As always, a near even amount of students were in each House, though there were more girls than boys this go-round. The pseudo-Snape walked back to her seat, eyes on the mahogany before her instead of the Students like most of the other teachers, hands folded meekly in her lap. Snape stood and came 'round to the front podium, where Dumbledore should have been standing, and Neville felt a pang in his chest. The room went silent immediately.

"I expect you have all either heard or read of the... changes in staff," he began in his usual style, offering no welcome or salutation. "Obviously," he continued sardonically after a pause, "I am the new headmaster and you will address me as such. My niece, Maeve Snape, has joined the staff to eventually replace Professor Slughorn as the Potions Mistress, as he is slowly becoming... ill. She is also my Deputy Headmistress. Also joining the staff are the Professors Carrow for the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies. Any and all punishments will be referred to them. If you so much as breathe out of turn, you will be severely punished. Am. I. Clear."

It was more of a statement than a question, and the food appeared before them. Even the food seemed to be affected by the mood, as it was by far less tasty and flamboyant than its usual level.

After the feast, if you could even call it that, the prefects (all sons and daughters of Voldemort's most trusted advisors, rich stuck up Purebloods in other words) lead their first year groups to the common rooms. Neville saw the pseudo-Snape head towards the Dungeons after exchanging hushed words with her uncle.

* * *

Maeve stood before the Seventh Year Class, relatively large for what she'd heard of the usual sparse bit her Uncle nit-picked down to the final few willing to work their arses off for a N.E.W.T. in the subject. Hermione would have been in this class, she thought glumly. Here sat the oldest and finest potions student's Hogwarts had to offer, and Maeve was alone. Horace, as Professor Slughorn insisted she call him after learning from McGonagall that she was alright, had feigned his hip was giving him too much trouble to be any good in class today, and could she pretty please teach the Seventh Years who could practically do it all themselves by now anyhow. Old rotter.

She wore close fitting clothes beneath her apprentice robes, Hogwarts issue with the crest on the front just like the students house robes except non house oriented. She would have liked the yellow she now saw on Ernie Macmillan robes.

Maeve had read over the lesson plan frantically this morning over toast, having really no idea what to do. She'd never taught a day in her life! Sure, she'd helped her co-workers on occasion, trained new employees, but never really taught a bunch of seventeen year olds, who by the looks of things already hated her just for breathing. Shite.

"Good morning, everyone," she began in hopes that they would listen. Nobody spoke.

"To get a decent, well paying, non custodial oriented job in the Wizarding world, one must first scrape together the proper credentials at a decent school. In this class, you will be learning to brew potions you may or may not be tested on at random for your N. E. W. T.'s. If you're cooperative, I may even get around to showing you something more exciting and stimulating than the general run-of-the-mill concoctions you'll be required to produce perfectly." A few of them were actually listening, thank goodness. Maybe she had inherited a few traits her Uncle had involving the ability to make students listen, though hopefully for different reasons altogether.

"This class will be based on a very simple schedule. Mondays are for Theory and Discussion, Thursdays are for brewing, and your only homework will be a year long project of your choice, the creation of a new potion with guidelines outlined in a paper I'll hand out at the end of class. You will have to successfully brew your potion and showcase it's proper purpose and ability to pass the class and be allowed to sit your N. E. W. T. exams. I didn't make the rules, ask Professor Slughorn if you have any complaints on the subject."

"Er, I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I'm Maeve Snape, nineteen, Hufflepuff, homeschooled. I used to work for Saint Mungo's as the Head Potioneer in the Mental Ward, but now I'm here. I'm generally in my office if I'm not here, but always between last class and dinner unless there's a notice. So, er, let's get started, yeah?"

After the first task was given and carried out, several of the students looked at her as though they believed she thought them incompetent.

"I do realize this is first and second year stuff, but you have to get reacquainted with the lab and your tools before you can get into brewing or things go, er, awry. Believe me, trial and error is a harsh teacher," she reassured them as they did relatively menial tasks like oiling cauldrons, sharpening and handling knives on potatoes and bay leaves to remember how to cut precisely and evenly, and peel properly. At the end of the class, she passed out the promised handout, receiving only glares and apathetic glances before dismissing them.

Sitting in her office during the free period that morning she'd been afforded by Horaces miraculous recovery to take over the next class, Maeve was already growing bored. Pulling out her magical copy of Dumbledores research, she read over some of the places she'd highlighted for later use, and took out her wand to re-try some of the bits she'd been unsuccessful in last time, when she was interrupted. Into her office rushed a young man of about Seventeen, who looked quite a lot like some of her old Patients in the Mental Ward, but didn't have a name yet. He had a large gash over his forehead which was bleeding over his eye, and she gave him the clinical once over in her utter confusion as he stood rooted to the spot in fear and surprise.

His eyes traveled to her wand, which she stowed away immediately. He unfroze and blinked several times.

She very quietly and hastily pulled an unopened jar of essence of murtlap out of her drawer where she'd had quite a bit stowed for situations like this. She then stood slowly from her desk, squat jar in hand, and approached him. He took his wand out defensively, obviously still adrenaline pumped by the state of his pupils and breathing, but she held up her hands in a show of peace, and got as close as she dared to him, which was about at arms length.

"You're hurt," she said plainly.

"What's it to you?" he asked.

"Quite a lot, actually. Stay still," she ordered, and to her surprise he complied as she took another step forward and examined the gash. He was taller than her, but not by much, and had a guarded look about him.

"It won't need any serious mending, relatively shallow, but you'll need to get that blood off your face. Er, there's a sink over there with a mirror if you want to use it, and um," she proffered the jar, "put a glob of this on when you've dried it."

"Why should I trust you?"

She shrugged. "I'm a medical Professional. My license as a general Healers Assistant doesn't expire for another three years."

He quickly took the Essence, and strode to the sink to complete the task.

"There are sanitized flannels in the drawer on your left, if you want one."

"Thanks," he replied, taking one.

Maeve dared not move, and was silent as she watched him work.

After he was finished, the job somewhat sloppy altogether, he turned to look at here, still there with the same expression on her face.

"What are you playing at?" he questioned her quietly.

"I don't even know half the time," she replied, some sort of old feeling of tiredness sweeping over her. "Do try not to get killed, your parents would miss you."

"No they wouldn't," he replied quietly.

"Yes, they would. I've treated them for the past two years, I see they way they light up when you're around. Health signs increase quite abnormally when happy emotions are introduced into living things."

The boy paled. "You worked at Saint Mungos?"

"Yes, but you're the only person I can speak to about your parents besides the director of the hospital and your grandmother without express consent. Binding magical rules and all that."

He stared at her.

"What's your name, anyways?"

"Neville. Longbottom."

Her eyebrows rose a fraction. "Keep out of trouble Neville," she told him quietly, "but hold onto your convictions. Humanity, compassion, is human, and without it we aren't, now are we?"

Maeve opened the door for him and let him through before closing it. Just then, her Uncle walked through the floo of her office fireplace, coughing at the soot.

"Who was that?" he inquired lightly, brushing soot from his already soot black robes.

Maeve cast a silencing spell on the door to prevent eavesdropping.

"A student. Neville Longbottom. Got into a bit of trouble, I think."

Severus looked up finally. "Really? It's only been, what, a day since he got here and he's already been attacked?" He walked over to the cushy armchairs before the fire and sat, waiting. "Things are escalating quicker than I thought. The Carrows will have a field day with all the detentions, but Longbottom won't be killed. He's Pureblooded. They'll be thinking about chaining him up for breeding stock soon enough, I've heard rumours of it."

"How has your day been so far?" Maeve asked, sitting down in the chair opposite him.

"Horrid, soon to get worse, and it's hardly even lunch yet," he replied, scrubbing his face. "Alecto and Acymus are gumming up the works with their ideas about punishment, and I'm having to let them get away with most of it, though I have had to stop what's just downright ridiculous and perverted. McGonagall's been to complain to me twice this morning about Acymus demanding she hand over her detentions, which I had to smooth over," he ordered tea for both of them just then. "Enough about my troubles, right? What have you gotten yourself into?"

Maeve sighed. "I had to teach the Seventh years this morning. Alone, yeah? I don't know what to do, I think I did okay, but really I haven't a clue in the slightest. They weren't very pleased with me, and that's probably, no offense, because of what they believe about you. After that, and I'll have to show you it sometime but not now, I went through some of Dumbledores old notes, and I think I know what to do with some of it now, though I'll need to ask Minerva for help. Then Neville showed up, I hadn't really seen or met him before, but I know his parents, and he was all bloodied, gave him some murtlap essence. Merlin! When did Seventeen year old boys start to get into so much shite? Are things always like this?"

"No, I think I may have to do with being associated to Potter." He spat the surname like a bitter aftertaste.

Maeve sighed again and watched in silence as the House Elf Pippin prepared their tea and left.

"Don't provoke Acymus, by the way, he's seen your bitchy side, stared at your chest at breakfast, and decided you're prey. If he makes any advances on you, I won't be able to help you unless I'm there, so don't spare him. Use the techniques I've taught you, and make him fear you with anything you have, feigned insanity even, which I will gladly help you create." He refilled his cuppa and took a long sip.

"Kill him if you get the chance, actually, it may do us some good, and will drive Alecto to come after you to put ou in a position to finish her off too. Of course, then we'd be out two teachers, but how bad could that be, eh? I'm sure you could teach Muggle Studies with all your knowledge, and I could go back to teach Defense." He half barked a laugh and finished his tea. "Wishful thinking," he grumbled, and without a goodbye strode into the fire with a command of placement, no floo powder, and vanished along with the blaze that had been crackling merrily in the hearth (no wood).

Maeve groaned "Shite shite shite," into her hands. The Dark took Severus' place in the chair.

"Teppop das er'uoy." _You're sad, poppet_.

She jumped, and looked up, paling dramatically.

"Not you too."


	8. Chapter 8

When Maeve was seventeen, her parents were tortured and murdered in an awful Death Eater attack in their home in London. Her emotional state was devastated, she'd had to take three weeks off work to be able to make Potions properly again, and she was afraid she was losing her mind.

Shortly after her parents died, she had been inside her home on the couch for a solid ten hours, blankly staring at a wall when a small orb of black matter appeared before her. At the time, her apathy had been at such a level that she simply didn't care about it, but watched it. Over the course of the next several hours, the orb grew to magnificent size, and began to morph itself into what looked like a man. Severus had shown up not long afterwards, cleaning up her house after her, washing the dishes and making dinner. He gave her a few potions to take (advised), and a glass of water to drink (demanded), and left the room without some much as a glance at the form now before her in the shape of a faceless man made of a matter that seemed somewhat fuzzy, more of a collection of atoms in a spot than any sort of structured thing. It moved to sit next to her on the couch, and began to talk.

Of course, in her numb and unfocused state, she didn't scream and call for Severus like she normally would have in a situation like this, one where she truly and sincerely hadn't a clue as to how to save herself, and was afraid. Its tongue was backwards, literally, but in her mind it was translated into proper English.

"Teppop, das os yhw?" _Why so sad, poppet?_

"Pop dna mum raed ruoy tsol?" _Lost your dear mum and pop?_

"Emahs a tahw." _What a shame._

Severus came back through to usher her to her kitchen table, and told her she wasn't allowed to do anything until she'd eaten at least a quarter of each item on her plate, and drunk all the water in the glass.

The black form had followed them into the dining room, sitting in an out turned unoccupied chair, and although it had no eyes, she felt it watching her. After she had eaten most of what was on her plate, she felt more like conversation, and decided it was now or never.

"What do you want?" she asked it finally. Severus stared at her in confusion but she held a hand up to him, obviously directing her full attention on the being.

"Teppop, uoy wonk ot teg ot tnaw ylno I." _I only want to get to know you, poppet._

"My name isn't poppet. You've come into my house, and quite possibly my subconscious uninvited and I demand you at least tell me your name." She heard rather than saw Severus draw his wand. He was on the defensive now.

"Esruoc fo, Krad Eht ma I. Ytsief woh." _How feisty. I am The Dark, of course._

"The Dark. Why are you here?" she demanded. Severus looked puzzled, but aware, casing diagnostic spells in the general direction she was looking in.

"Deef ot ereh ma I." _I am here to feed._

"You're here to feed. Off my despair? Are you some sort of Dementor, or a cousin species to one?"

"Uoy fo etutsa woh." _How astute of you._

Maeve looked over at Severus, who was now casting diagnostic spells on her.

"Whatever The Dark is, it's latched on to your brain and part of your neck, shoulder, and chest. A demon, perhaps?" he suggested, but didn't pocket his wand. "Are you going to kill her?" Severus asked with the calm nonchalance of asking after the weather.

"Stsoh ym llik ton od I elcnu ruoy llet." _Tell your uncle I do not kill my hosts._

"It says it doesn't kill its hosts. And it knew you're my uncle."

At this, Severus blasted an expulsion spell at Maeve, but a force field surrounded her and blocked it like the collection of black sand.

"It also seems to make sure it protects its hosts as well. I'll assume a high level demon? Killed, or sent back to wherever it came from, upon the death of its host. It must feed on your sadness, and if I'm not mistaken will try and keep you down in despair for as long as possible to continue to feed. We shall have to remedy that."

It had taken months of constant work, and getting herself back to something resembling normal for the demon to leave her in disgust of her happiness.

* * *

Now, it was back. Everything about the parasitic nature of its entanglement was etched into her mind, literally, and in the dead of the night she could feel it inside her brain. In the mirror, she would catch glimpses of her eyes, the whole eye encompassed in a crude-oil like reflective black when the Dark was speaking to her or protecting her from something. And worst of all, it made her feel awful, more awful than any run-in with a Dementor she'd had in her fortnight at the school.

Every painful emotion she felt at seeing children with cuts on their faces, fear in their eyes, and pain etched into their young, weary bodies was exacerbated tenfold, and she was fairly drowning in the lack of sensation. If she did go to sleep, her nightmares were fraught with the pain of losing her parents, home, and cat. Sometimes she would black out and wake up within her body, not a clue as to what had happened, people looking at her with fear written all over their faces.

Minerva remarked on the thing her eyes did once in a hushed meeting in her office, and Maeve was forced to tell her.

"You're _possessed_?" she had replied in a startled tone.

"Know any good priests?" Maeve wondered aloud in a dull tone.

Apparently there was no help for her, and she'd have to try to get through it like she had last time. But how could she? With all this pain around her, saturating her life, how could she hope to be happy? There was no escape, the war would have to be won before she could get rid of it, or else commit suicide, which she thought unlikely. As if it would let her. The very thought of being stuck with this - this thing was awful enough, but now the timestamp was questionable. Would the war end in a month? A decade? She didn't know. And what would happen if Severus and/or Hermione died? Maeve couldn't be put out of her misery, she'd have to live with it, and then there may not be any hope of getting out of it.

One night in bed, it was lying beside her, keeping her awake despite her need for sleep.

"I hate you," she whispered forcefully at it as it kept her mind going in circles.

"Doog," _Good_, it replied.

* * *

Sitting with his crew in the Gryffindor Common Room, Neville nursed a cut on his arm with the last of the Murtlap Essence Maeve Snape had given him not a month earlier. As per usual, things weren't going well, and detentions severity for smaller crimes were escalating. He'd been in a couple of detentions with Hagrid, who hid the fact that he would take them out into the forest and make a fire, let them all rest, tell them stories of beasts, and pass around a huge water skin.

He'd taken to watching the Pseudo-Snape, and she was visibly wilting. Obvious signs of sleep deprivation and emotional trauma were showing on her, and the looks Carrow gave her were enough to make even Neville shudder. From what he'd heard, she was a good teacher, patient, and almost never gave detentions, only a strict talking to and in-class punishment, like grade docking or cauldron scrubbing. Neville found it odd that she wouldn't give detention if she was Snape's niece, and remembered his earlier thoughts. He hadn't really talked to McGonagall about trying to move the Apprentice's foundations, but resolved he'd do it the next day. Today, there was Transfiguration homework to be done, and Charms notes to copy from friends after his entanglement before class the previous day that had earned him the lashings.

There was little doubt in Neville's mind that Snape held some demented form of not-quite-affection for his niece, and would like her alive rather than dead. Once he'd walked around a corner and seen them going 'round the next, chatting about something, and Snape's face was a little less awful than usual, an emotion Neville believed may actually have been akin to a liking. On another occasion, Snape had taken notice of the girls eating habits, or lack thereof lately, and forced her to eat a whole baked potato (complete with toppings Neville suspected were what she usually put on one herself) one bite at a time, and didn't let her leave until she had. After several meals with this occurrence, several different meals being made for her to eat all of, she began to eat solemnly without much coercion, and began to look at least a little better, though a person's outlook dims their appearance no matter how healthy.

Why, one might ask, was Neville watching these two like a hawk lately? It was because he didn't trust anybody who could walk around with that murderer on a daily basis acting like nothing was wrong and not be either a) a really good spy or b) absolutely crackers. He was also watching and keeping mental tabs of the habits and whereabouts of the teachers and Filch, hoping to find holes in the patrol in which to put in advertisement for the DA (Dumbledore's Army) to hopefully revive it in some way.

Neville was quite thankful for their lesson in Fifth year on how to make a Patronus, because those bloody Dementors would sneak up on you sometimes, and it helped to be able to defend the younger students. Flitwick was teaching the charm to anybody who'd listen just in case there was an attack, and he'd heard the Pseudo-Snape had actually literally killed (or since they were technically not alive anyways, dissolved) two of the awful nightmares when they'd cornered her on her way to lunch. This had apparently pissed Snape off, and he now only allowed the Dementors on the grounds and in the airspace, but not within the castle.

* * *

The following day, Neville went to Professor McGonagall during her office hours, and accepted the proffered tea and biscuits.

"Professor, I have a question about Miss Snape," he began, but was cut off when the bespectacled woman cast a harsh and thick reddish bubble like shield over the both of them.

"Go on," McGonagall continued.

"Is she a spy?" he asked quietly.

"If she was, I couldn't confirm nor deny it," the Professor sighed. "But rest assured, she is no threat to the Order or the DA. Do not presume to approach her about this, she is in deep cover, and the Headmaster could be near her at any time. Go back to your dorm, Mr. Longbottom."

* * *

Severus sat in the Headmasters office in November filling out paper work as was his duty, when the fire flared green and in stepped Maeve dragging something behind her that whimpered as it hit some of the furniture on the way to his desk. He realized after a beat that she was covered in flecks of blood, which came from no wound on her body, and the skirt of her dress was ripped up. The quivering mass behind her, he surmised, must be Amycus Carrow.

Maeve was not Maeve at the moment. Her eyes were unnaturally large, and completely black. Her mouth was curved into a crude unpleasant smile, and her posture was nothing like what she usually had. He'd been researching for the last month on exorcisms, but the pure insanity surrounding him and his work took up the majority of his time. He now saw his error in this.

* * *

Minerva was left in charge as he made his way discreetly and silently to the Ministry, never bothered as he walked right through every security gate in his path and went down the lifts to his destination without comment from anyone. Sometimes being an infamous killer for a current tyrant had its advantages. Finally he was at the front door of the selfsame set of corridors the fray two years ago had taken place in where Black had died. An Unspeakable, Croaker, walked up to him after about half a second of standing there silently without breathing, which was the signal for help in this place.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"Demonic Possessions and Exorcism."

After a long moment of silent scrutiny, he was led to a small room with three books on a table in the center with one chair.

Croaker pointed to each of the books in turn: "Identify the demon, find its' weakness, and find its' exorcism chant and symbols."

* * *

Back at Hogwarts, they were dealing with the body of Amycus Carrow in the abandoned Headmasters Office, who was sincerely dead, with his sister crying over his crumpled form, livid.

"What do you want to do with him?" asked Minerva insensitively.

"Bury him of course you twit," was the woman's harsh demand. She levitated his body to the floo and left Hogwarts without a word, leaving only Minerva and Maeve in the Headmasters Office. She turned to the weeping younger girl, approaching slowly so as not to anger the demon inside her.

"Maeve, maybe you should take a walk," she suggested in what she hoped was a kind manner.

Maeve nodded and left the room through the front door, leaving only Minerva in the room. She turned to Dumbledore's Portrait.

"Albus, what am I going to do with her?" she asked, looking afraid. "That thing inside her is a menace. How are we going to get it out of her?"

* * *

Severus literally flew back to Hogwarts, neglecting the Floo, giving himself time to think about what he needed. The Dark didn't have a recorded name, but it did have a set of exorcism spells, symbols, and item requirements. He had the majority of the items, but all that was left was blood unused before in a ritual. He was sure Branding for the Dark Mark didn't count, and he did have an extra Death Eater to be rid of…

Landing at the gate, he was met by Minerva, however oddly, who looked intent.

"Did you find the exorcism requirements?" she asked hurriedly, falling into step with him.

"I did. I assume Alecto took Amycus' body for her family to bury?"

"She did. Maeve is on a walk, so we have a good window of time. What can I do to help?"

"When Alecto returns in a flaming rage seeking revenge on her sister, direct her to my office, and I'll take care of everything else."

After the needed materials were gathered, and the space on his floor was created, he waited patiently, writing down the needed chant for himself in case he forgot it under duress.

Professor McGonagall entered, nodding, and they took out their wands in waiting. No less than ten beats passed when Maeve came running into the room, fearful but still herself. After Alecto entered as well, the door was locked. Carrow used Avada after Avada, slicing hexes, and all manner of intensely dreadful spells, which Severus and Minerva had to dodge and hide behind the large oak desk. After a few moments, there was a defining silence, and they peered form behind it. The Dark was in control of Maeve, covered in Alectos blood, her arm straight through Alecto's chest, smiling at the choking spluttering woman as she cried out in agony before taking her last breath.

In a flurry of movements, the Devils Trap on the ceiling was activated, and The Dark seemed to roar at them. Severus began the chant, motioning for Minerva to begin throwing the herbs and items at Maeve, who was writhing on the ground in pain, covered in the virgin blood of her sacrifice.

Suddenly, the room shifted out of Severus' view and he was standing in the middle of Hogwarts' Courtyard, but it was black and white like a chessboard, and there was a man standing in front of him dressed impeccably in muggle-like clothes, except the cape, and was wearing a smirk. He was the most handsome face Severus had ever seen, and he had the odd urge to bow, but his Occlumency kicked in and pushed the excess mental stimulation away.

"Severus Snape, I never thought I'd see you here," said the man. "You've done me a favor, old boy, in ridding your little girl of her problem. You see, the demon you've exorcised owes me servitude in Hell, money on a few bets and the like, and I am prepared to reward you with anything you wish for your service."

Severus stared at him as his brain processed the information. He must be Lucifer, or Satan, or whatever he went by. And he was offering him anything he wanted.

Seconds ticked by, and he breathed in to speak.

"I want my niece barred from demonic possession ever again. I want my Dark Mark and all the dark magic in it gone from me. And I want Hogwarts to be kept from entry by anyone who I do not give express permission to enter until I decide to drop the wards."

Satan laughed a long, odd laugh that sounded like music.

"I can give you the first two easily, however the third… it will only last for six hundred and sixty six days. After that, you'll have to figure out what to do on your own."

He felt something be pulled from him, and the sensation of having a long tube sucked from every corner of his boy out through his forearm was unusual, but he was astonished when Satan held the dark Mark suspended with a parasitic looking collection of magical tentacle appendages hanging off the 2-D tattoo. He felt oddly bereft, like something fundamentally apart of him had just left, or a poison had been rid of his system, because he was suddenly lighter, physically, mentally, emotionally… and it started to hurt. Satan flashed him a gorgeous smile, with perfectly straight gleaming white Lockhart-esque teeth, and Severus found himself on the floor of his absolutely demolished office, blood everywhere, Minerva Flooing Poppy to come help her, the corpse of Alecto Carrow in a pool of blood with Maeve not far from it no longer covered in blood, the Devils Trap on the ceiling gone, and the lump on the back of his head from falling throbbing painfully.

He immediately began unbuttoning the sleeves on his arm, rolling them up to reveal the beautifully plain white skin of his whole forearm, marred by normal scars and the coloring of veins, but _no Dark Mark_ as promised! He started to laugh, loud and clear, tears streaming out the sides of his eyes, in pure happiness he hadn't felt in so long, piercing through the melancholy veil surrounding his mind. He knew, subconsciously he must look deranged lying there with a corpse and a coma patient laughing hysterically, but it was the farthest thing from his mind as he jumped up, embracing both a disheveled Minerva and an offended looking Poppy Pomfrey. Then he remembered himself and strode to Maeve, checking her for vital signs and attempted to wake her up. He was alive, praise Satan for promise keeping, and whole as could be. The demonic presence was gone, and he lifted her right up in his arms to take to the Hospital Wing, still weeping with joy.

Poppy and Minerva stared at him like he'd lost his mind. He supposed on some level he had, but, he decided, it was so pleasant a place to be he didn't mind.


End file.
